Weaken the Lock
by Julia Caesaris
Summary: A criminal whose soul was sucked out woke up and escaped. The TARDIS was missing and the Doctor didn't know where or when he was. Voldemort was back, and Sirius Black had a few more secrets left,. To top this all off, there was a watch involved, and a very good reason for Barty Crouch Jr and the Tenth Doctor to look identical. Angst. Oh, so much angst.
1. The Missing Piece, I

**Doctor Who, Special Series; Episode 1: The Missing Piece**

**A/N: In my defence, I moved into the dorm this Thursday and my life's been a bit hectic. The new (new) plan is to update _something_ over the weekend, whether it's this, or Serpent's Tears. Either way, here you go!**

* * *

To give them their due, this really was not their job. They were Aurors, the best of the best, the wizarding equivalent to the British Special Air Service. They weren't gaolers, or Healers, used to dragging comatose bodies hither and yon at the beck and call of a man they didn't vote for. They weren't trained to monitor their prisoners for anything other than consciousness and danger-level. Still, all of that did not save them their jobs when it was discovered the next morning that a man whose soul had been eaten by a dementor had somehow escaped.

* * *

Propping the body up against a wall, Auror Wiggins looked at Auror Smith – one of five Auror Smiths, actually, this one being Jack Smith. "You wanna check him or should I?"

This, at least, was standard operating procedure. At the end of every raid, the Auror team stripped the bodies to check for spare wands, magical artefacts, or Muggle explosives. It was Auror tradition to then keep the confiscated items, as no one who went to Azkaban with a life sentence would ever care about 10 sickles change again.

Smith shrugged. "Go ahead. We're splitting the gain, though." He leaned back against the opposite wall, tucking his wand under his arm and pulling out a cigarette. "You think Mad-eye'll recover? Nine months in a trunk, honestly."

Wiggins began going through the massive trench-coat. "Not our job to speculate." Of the pair, he was the more staid, rule-bound one. Not a citation on the record in ten years on the force. He wasn't sure he approved of Minister Fudge's pre-emptive ruling on the removal of what-had-been Barty Crouch's soul, but so long as Fudge was his minister, he would obey. Pulling out a sneakoscope, he chucked it at his partner. "I've got five of the things, you can have that."

Turning the sneakoscope over, Smith groaned. "You're a rule-bound prat, you know that?"

"Auror Captain," Wiggins shot back, pulling out a pocket watch from the coat. "Hold on, what's this?" He flipped it around, occasionally holding it by the long chain, occasionally flat in the palm of his hand. "That's odd." He held it up to his ear. "Not ticking." Opening it, he continued flipping it around. "Fascinating design, even if it is broken," he told his partner.

Smith grunted. "You're keeping it, I gather?"

Wiggins clicked it open and closed several times, finally leaving it open to better inspect the design on the inside of the casing. "Yep. Could fetch a pretty penny if I market it right. Or, if it starts working, the missus has been asking about a watch for young Henry."

Neither of them noticed the golden motes swirling out of the watch and into the body on the wall. They weren't supposed to.

"Don't just stand there," Smith protested, "keep on looking."

Wiggins glared at him. "You wanna do this? Didn't think so. We're not on schedule right now. Doesn't matter how long we take."

Propped against the wall, the body took in a deep shuddering breath.

Smith frowned. "Do they normally do that?" He had never been stationed on Azkaban, focusing instead on bodyguard duty.

Wiggins turned and stared. "No," he said slowly, "no, they don't."

The body opened its eyes.

"Before you ask," Wiggins said, a tick starting in one eye, "they don't do that either."

Smith took a deep breath. "Right, so the dementor didn't finish the job. Okay, but no big deal, we just go track down the stupid thing and do it properly."

The body – they couldn't call it a body any longer and pretend that it was dead – the convict, that was better – the convict shoved itself off the wall and promptly fell over.

Wiggins shook his head, drawing his wand. "No. I saw it. I saw his soul. I saw the dementor eat his soul! Little –" He stumbled over the word. "Little – like _flecks _of stuff came off him. This – what's happening!"

The convict seemed content to ignore them. Trembling a bit, it stood up, blinking, and leaned against the wall for support. Mouthing words to itself, it ran a hand over its face and then through its hair. Suddenly it looked up sharply. "This is new," it croaked. "Never resurrected in the same body before."

Smith only barely forced down a scream. This wasn't happening. This couldn't be happening. Soulless bodies just didn't do this. It wasn't possible.

Wiggins, older with more experience, said, "I demand that you surrender, sir. You are under arrest by order of the Minister of Magic and you will submit to our authority."

The convict looked him in the eyes, head cocked slightly. "No," it said, savouring the word. Its eyes flicked downward rapidly, and then back up to meet Wiggins'. Head lolling back on its neck, it said, "That's my watch."

Taking a step backward in spite of himself, Wiggins swallowed. "You, sir, are under arrest! I demand that you surrender!" The convict was mentally _dead_! It couldn't be doing this! Wiggins was unpleasantly reminded of Inferni.

Blinking, the convict forced its head back into an upright position. "No." It stepped forward towards Wiggins, wobbling significantly. "And I want my watch back. I _need_ that watch. It's a – it's a – a very important thing."

Trembling, Wiggins levelled his wand, all the blood gone from his face. "Surrender! Now! Or I will resort to force!"

The convict's head flopped sideways. "No, you won't."

A vein throbbed in Wiggins' temple. "I – I – I'm warning you!"

Bringing its head upright, but swaying slightly, the convict stepped forward. "You won't attack me. Neither will your companion." It wobbled, leaning on Wiggins' shoulder for support. Wiggins tried to step away, to no great success. "You know why?" The convict grabbed the tip of Wiggins' wand. "I won't let you." It grinned, staring shakily into Wiggins' eyes.

"_Stupefy!_" Smith shouted, wand pointed at the convict.

Far too fast, the convict spun, placing Wiggins in the way of the spell. "See?" the convict said, still smiling. "You can't hurt me. I win."

Smith trembled, forcing his wand back up. "I – I am an Auror! You can't do this!"

The convict dropped Wiggins, letting him fall to the floor. Still noticeably shaky, it walked up to Smith. "Yes. Yes, I can, Auror." Without any discernible effort, it jerked Smith's wand out of his hands. "You made a mistake," it said, head flopping backward again, "in letting your partner open my watch. You really shouldn't have done that. You see," it dropped the wand on the floor, "before, I was nothing. Now," the grin spread, "I am the Doctor."

With that, the convict grabbed Smith's head, shoving _something_ at his mind. Smith collapsed to the floor, unconscious.


	2. The Missing Piece, II

**Doctor Who, Special Series; Episode 1: The Missing Piece****  
**

**A/N: Here we go, chapter 2! No spoilers yet, unless you're really looking. Also no explanation, but we're getting there, don't worry!**

**Sonic Screwdriver Setting 42: Everyone ready for the episode tonight? I'm certainly not! On that note, still not mine.**

* * *

_I am in danger._

He didn't know where he was going, didn't know where he was, didn't know where he had been. He was just running, through endless stone corridors, down an infinity of ancient staircases, passing door after door after door.

_I don't know what's going on._

The Aurors – and he didn't know if those were aliens, or a job, or a race, or any of an almost infinite array of possibilities – weren't following him, yet, but the possibility was there.

_I need to get out._

He was pretty sure he was in a castle of some sort, judging by the walls, which meant he could find the main gate. It would be down, and then towards a central room, and then out to the walls.

_I need to find the TARDIS._

That was more worrying than anything else. He'd had occasions where he'd lost large chunks of memory before, but he'd always, _always _known where his TARDIS was. Now he had no clue. It should have been _there_, hovering on the edge of his consciousness, but it wasn't, and that was terribly, terribly wrong in a way that sent tremors through his body.

_I will die if I make one mistake_.

He couldn't afford to die right now. In his weakened condition, the regeneration would be slow, painful, and probably explosive, all of which could lead to his enemies killing him mid-transition, which would be… bad.

Clattering to a halt at the foot of the last staircase – and he was sure there was an _excellent_ reason he was only wearing one shoe and one sock – he checked for others. None, fortunately, and, taking off again, he ran through the large double doors right in front of him.

It was sunny outside. Shielding his face with one arm, he blinked rapidly. He looked around, taking deep breaths. A huge expanse of grass, a pathway leading to a clearly-ceremonial gate, with a forest on one side, and a lake on the other.

The forest it was, then. At a full sprint, he ran for the trees, only vaguely noticing – and caring even less – the trench-coat flapping at his heels. Running with only one shoe was a new experience, but he managed – he always did.

_I have nothing. No advantages. No gimmicks, no tricks, no – nothing._

The forest was mostly hardwoods, interspersed with evergreens, but little undergrowth. A part of his mind categorized the species by scientific name, common name in English, and recorded name, if any, in Gallifreyan. He ignored that, focusing on getting as far into the forest as possible.

There were other things in there, he could hear them, but he ignored that too. He could run – he could _always _run – but it looked like, whatever else had been going on, the human-him had been keeping in shape. Sun filtered through the trees, giving him enough light to avoid the protruding roots. If there had been a trail, he was no longer on it. It didn't matter. There were a lot of things that didn't matter now.

_RoseMickeyJackSarahJaneDonna MarthaJackieWilfAstridChrist inaAdelaide _

Didn't matter, he reminded himself. Didn't matter. All gone. For one reason or another, none of them had come with him – none of them _could _come with him – this time. Just him. Alone. Always.

There was a cave, of sorts. Panting, he ran into it, collapsing against one side. In shape he was, but not _that_ in shape. The cave roof was barely above his head, and it was just deep enough to have a sharp twist. From the deepest corner, he could lie down and not be visible from outside.

_Perfect. _

It had taken seemingly forever, but he could finally relax – to a point – and take stock. His clothes – a battered jumper, a zip-up jacket, the trench-coat, a pair of excessively abused trousers, and one boot – were all the wrong size. Whoever had previously owned these clothes had been broader – by a not insignificant amount – across the shoulders, with a thicker waist, but the pants were far too short and the boot too small.

His body was in fairly good condition, although he'd acquired some rather disturbing tattoos, including a moving black skull-and-snake one on his left forearm. Other than that: he'd been well fed, although he was short on sleep, and during his run through the forest, he'd twisted the bare ankle.

_Right, now what?_

Suddenly remembering, he stuck his tongue out and tasted the air.

_15.4 degrees Celsius, nitrogen at 78.08%, oxygen 20.95%, argon 0.93%, carbon dioxide 362 parts per million, et cetera… water vapour about 2% but falling – no rain today then._

The thoughts were automatic. He was on Earth, the original one, and relatively early given the percentage of carbon dioxide. Before Rose – even the thought produced a twinge, but the dates he picked up companions were useful in anchoring his personal timeline – but after their second world war. Human wars and their predilection for guns.

_Well, we're making progress then. I know I'm on Earth, northern hemisphere – probably Great Britain given how many times I end up there anyways – in the early summer, no rain coming today, which is new._

That helped, knowing _anything_ about what was going on provided a long-missing sense of certainty.

_Need: sleep, water, food, another boot, information, my TARDIS. In that order._

There wasn't anything else he could do. The cave was abandoned, and had been for years, the last inhabitant being a now-deceased bear. Time to sleep. When the sun set, he'd move again, but until then, he was safe enough.

* * *

He overslept. By the time he woke up, the sun was well up. This was unusual, but not unduly worrying. In all honesty – not that he'd been honest with himself for _years_ – he was surprised he hadn't gone into a coma.

_So. Water, food, boot, information, TARDIS._

Although, since he'd slept longer than intended, these could be addressed in any order he wanted. Still, it was time to leave the cave. Hauling himself upright, he manually straightened his ankle, grimacing at the pain. Yes, he could set up pain blocks to that foot, but not only was it time-consuming, but it also had a bad tendency to shut down the nerves in that area if left on too long, and so, unless it was absolutely necessary, he tended to avoid doing it.

Limping out of the cave, he came to a halt and stared upward. "Nine hundred years old, and this is the first time I see a centaur," he said quietly. He wasn't ready to deal with another being, he was still precariously _alien_, but he'd have to pull through somehow. Not to mention that he'd been to Earth enough times that he would _know_ if there were centaurs there, and there weren't, so this was wrong, and something had gone terribly sideways, and he didn't have any way to deal with it, and he _was not panicking!_

The centaur had a chestnut horse-body, while its human half had brown hair and a neatly trimmed beard. "Who are you to invade our lands?"

He blinked upwards at it, shutting down all the rest of his emotional reactions but the innate confusion at the situation. "I am the Doctor. And – ah, I'm not invading. I'm trying to run away, actually."

The centaur bent down. "You call yourself a doctor? Have you not another name?"

"No, I'm _the_ Doctor," he corrected. "And, ah, the rest of it doesn't matter. If you're willing, I need water, food, another boot, some information about the current situation, and my TARDIS, although I doubt you can do anything about that last." He smiled cheekily at the centaur.

Rearing back, the centaur yelled, "You _dare _make demands of us?"

Recalculating strategies rapidly, the Doctor pasted his smile. "No. I am making requests of you. Although, I do_ need_ water, rather rapidly, but you're not being required to do anything."

The centaur's nostrils flared. "We do not answer to _humans_!"

That struck a few too many nerves. Without his normal human shield prepared, everything the centaur said and did touched on his past. "Then it's a good thing I'm not human, isn't it?" he spat back, the fury only shoddily contained. It _had_ to be contained, he couldn't afford to lose his control now, not now without any sort of protection.

The centaur settled, but only barely. "What are you then? The stars say nothing about human-shaped beings entering our forest."

"A Time Lord," the Doctor said, "and, look, all I want is a bit of help. I swear to you, I'm not invading and I'm not trying to hurt you, I'm just trying to survive long enough to figure out where I am and what's going on!"

_Drat it._

That wasn't supposed to come out. He was shocked and terrified that the anger was that close to the surface. There were a thousand and one things he could blame it on, but in reality it had much more to do with his lack of self-control.

The centaur tossed his head. "What is a Time Lord? You look human enough."

The Doctor, trying to conceal his panic – doubt had never been an emotion he was good with, and this was doubt caused by his loss of self-control – stepped forward and looked into the centaur's eyes, projecting slightly.

_Low-level telepathic field. I hope this works._

"Me. I am a Time Lord. I protect _all_ equally, not just the species in charge."

The centaur backed up. "You have our permission to travel through our forest. We can do nothing else for you."

The Doctor frowned. "Water? Food? Information about whatever's going on? Another boot?" The TARDIS was a lost cause, for now. He'd come back to that later, but hydration was becoming a problem.

"There is a lake," the centaur said placidly.

_Right. That was helpful_.

The Doctor pasted his smile back on. "Thank you," he said dryly. Still limping, he made his way away from the cave, away from the useless centaur, away from where he had been, and to somewhere-he-didn't-actually-know-what-yet. It was probably approaching panic time.

_I don't know where I am, I don't know where my TARDIS is, I don't know what's going on, I don't have my sonic screwdriver or psychic paper, I don't have any way to find anything out, and I'm about to fall over from dehydration._

_Yep. Panic time._

* * *

The forest, fortunately, butted up against the lake, allowing him to sneak down and get a drink without worrying unduly about others who might want to kill him, capture him, torture him, extract information from him, or otherwise make it difficult for him to find his TARDIS, which was now first on his list of _things-I-need._

Back in the forest, he leaned against a tree, trying to figure out where it had gone so wrong. Evidently the watch had worked, but for some reason, this time the memories hadn't come back. That probably meant something bad – which was stupid. Of course it meant something bad, any time something went even the slightest bit wrong, it meant something bad. Before the watch – what _happened_ before the watch? He couldn't remember, the last thing he remembered was… Actually, that made a lot of sense.

Humming to himself, he wandered through the forest, trying – with no great success – to plan. If someone else – several someones, possibly – had followed him through, then by opening the watch, they'd now know where he was. But he wasn't back at full capacity yet, so even if there was another one here, he wouldn't be able to tell. Which probably meant nothing good.

It was a boring day. Actually – checking the watch, whose functionality was predetermined based on the presence or absence of an interior self-sustaining life form – it was a boring fifteen minutes. He didn't do well with extended periods of time where nothing happened. Okay, yes, he _knew_ how much time had passed, far more accurately than the watch did – fifteen minutes, forty-two point seven three seconds, actually – but he had been hoping, in some bizarre way, that more time had passed than he had perceived, because he was _really bored!_

_I don't like the slow path!_

To pass the time, he began categorizing information. Unfortunately, that was one process he couldn't slow down, which made it a rather ineffective way to pass the time, but he tried anyway.

_What I know: Nothing. I know nothing about what is going on and I'm going to die today if I can't solve this now!_

And the exercise collapsed in shambles around him.

_Then you're not making it simple enough,_ a small voice told him. _Make the problems simpler!_

_What I know: I'm lost. Somewhere. No, that's something I don't know. Trying again._

_What I know: I'm lost. I don't have my TARIDS, sonic screwdriver, or psychic paper. I'm also missing a boot. And none of my clothes fit right. With access to water, I can now survive almost indefinitely, although the lack of food will become unpleasant at some point. Um… I've got to know something else…_

_Right, so, moving on: Where I am. When I am. Where – and when – any of the aforementioned missing objects are. Where I got the clothes from, because honestly, I would never wear anything like this. No, that's something I do know this time._

_Back to what I don't know: What I was doing as a human. Why I don't have any memories of that time. What to do now._

534 more milliseconds had passed.

He began thumping his head against the trunk. One. Two. Three. _Four_.

He had nothing. No resources, no technology, no… no _nothing_. He'd _never_ had so little to work with, not even when the Master was up to his tricks again. Even then he'd had sleeper agents, and secret weapons, and aces up his sleeves – both of them, as often as possible – not what he had now, which was… nothing. He _hated_ this, absolutely _hated_ being powerless.

* * *

It was a horrible day. Being forced to take the same time that everyone else did left him in an awful mood, culminating in trying to drop kick a stone into the centre of the lake. It didn't work, and now his foot hurt. Tired and hungry, he limped back to the cave, preparing to slip into the healing coma. Maybe that would restore enough of his memories to allow him to get out of here. Otherwise – he wasn't quite ready to die, although at this point it might actually be helpful. If worst came to worst, he could always ask one of the centaurs to do it, he was sure they'd be pleased to be rid of him. Throughout the day, there'd always been one in the corner of his eye: invisible, if he'd been human. He wasn't, so he amused himself by waving to them. They didn't look pleased.

An absolutely _sadistic_ grin was on his face as he stumbled into the cave, unprepared to come face-to-face with the dead bear. Apparently someone had been here, although they were gone now. Presumably it was the same someone who had stapled a piece of A4 paper to the bear's rotting nose.

In large, friendly letters on the top, it read, _DON'T PANIC._

Not panicking – of course he'd read the book – he tore the paper off, and sat down in the back of the cave.

The first two words were the only ones written in English; the rest was in Old High Gallifreyan.

_Verification Code: I loved Rose but would never admit it to avoid breaking both our hearts when she died of old age._

The Doctor dropped the paper. The Old High Gallifreyan should have been a clue; of the two others in all the universes who could write that language, only one was likely to be writing to _him_. But the code confirmed it. All Time Lords who spent a lot of time involved in their own timelines – and everyone got to that point sooner or later – came up with a verification code to identify themselves with in the rare situations when contact with a past or future self was essential.

Picking up the paper again, he continued reading.

_Hi. It's me. We can make it out of this one; you just can't give up hope. Try major population centres for help. Can't tell you much more, you know the rules. Stupid things, but it doesn't turn out well when we break them. There was a reason for the quote. And remembering what our TARDIS is will be useful. Survival is about to become very, very important. All the rest of our morals may have to wait. I'm about a month ahead of you._

Below _that_ were his coordinates, written, not in Gallifreyan, but in the base code of the universe, that bizarre combination of human letters and numbers, together with symbols from a thousand thousand other civilizations that had ever, in all of eternity, reached the stars, jumbled together in the strangest language to ever exist. The first Time Lord had transcribed it and programmed it into all the TARDISes. Few other Time Lords took the trouble to learn it – why would you? Even if your TARDIS broke, it was still a quick hop home for repairs – but after The War, the Doctor had spent fifty years on the most boring planet he could find teaching it to himself.

_Scotland, near Inverness. That's odd._

His eyes flicked back and forth, translating rapidly.

_1995. Boring year. Why am I here? Well, other than that boring is good for hiding in._

He checked the back of the paper, and then returned to the front.

_Another universe? That's not good. That's really, really, fantastically not good. And kind of fun. Actually, this could be cool. A new universe! Not a split off from mine, but a whole new one! With new rules! And it would explain the centaurs, if nothing else._

The Doctor grinned, ripping the paper into shreds. Now he had something to do.


	3. The Missing Piece, III

**Doctor Who, Special Series; Episode 1: The Missing Piece**

**A/N: I should (no promises, though) be able to post two chapters a week for… a while? Hopefully until this is done, but no guarantees.**

**WARNING: Some implied violence.**

**Sonic Screwdriver Setting 42: Still not mine. On that note, the Angels Take Manhattan made me cry.**

* * *

The remains of the message he dumped in the lake. No point in leaving it laying around for someone to pick up and try to translate. He left the forest heading north, before striking out westerly towards Inverness.

It was easier to pass the time on foot, although that was relative. He'd never been so helpless, so utterly without resources. Finally, to keep from depressing himself further, he called up his memories of the message and began analysing.

_Major population centres._

He had to assume that meant in the near area – off the top of his head, he could come up with five billion cities that could be called 'major,' and that just within a 100 light-year span – which brought it down to the United Kingdom. If he started in Inverness, he could get passage to Aberdeen, Dundee, Edinburgh, and Glasgow eventually. Assuming bad luck in all of those, he could then head southwards and try England-proper.

_There was a reason for the quote._

He pondered this for a while, trying to figure out why _DON'T PANIC _was so important. It came to him just as he reached the A96 and the sun was rising again – it wasn't the quote that was important, it was the book it was from:_ The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy_.

Planting one foot on the road, he stuck a thumb out.

_I need to leave more notes for myself; I'm not doing too good at this. Next line._

_Remembering what our TARDIS is will be useful._

And that didn't make any sense at all. The TARDIS was a complicated merger of a species that lived off time energy and a four-dimensional spaceship; inseparable, irreplaceable, and mostly indestructible. What could that have to do with the current situation? He moved on to the next line.

_Survival is about to become very, very important._

That was his standard warning line: somebody's gonna try to kill you, keep an eye out. Not helpful.

_All the rest of our morals may have to wait._

He grinned like a maniac, just in time for a semi driver to take one look at him and swerve away. That – well, that helped with some things. If _he_ was telling himself to let go of all of his rules, then that meant that the situation was very bad, but that he could get out of it.

A pickup truck pulled over. "Hey, mate! Wanna lift?"

Distracted from his musings, the Doctor looked up. "Yes, please. Ah – if it's not too much trouble. I'm a bit short on money right now."

"Yeah, sure, mate! Hop on in! Where you off to?" The driver stuck his head out the window, waving at the door behind him.

The Doctor grinned at him. "Inverness, if it's not too much to ask. I'm the Doctor, by the way, what's your name?"

"James McKinnon. And this is Mark Ross." The driver pulled his head back in as the Doctor clambered into the back seat, waving at the man in the passenger seat.

Buckling himself in, the Doctor nodded. "Ah – are you headed to Inverness?"

Mark grinned, twisting in his seat. "We're headed wherever we want ta. Inverness works well enough."

The Doctor flopped his head against the headrest. "James McKinnon," he pronounced slowly, the names filling gaps in his psyche so deep he'd almost forgot they were there, "and Mark Ross." He smiled sardonically, raising an eyebrow. "Just two friends touring Scotland?"

Mark's face tightened, and James' hands clenched on the steering wheel. "Are you implying something?" Mark asked slowly.

The Doctor blinked. "No?" Most of his brain was preoccupied, listing cities, eliminating some, adding others, searching for which ones could be 'helpful' in some way. London would have something, Manchester, Leeds, Birmingham – no, not Birmingham – but York, and Liverpool, and Bristol.

"Jamie, pull us over," Mark said. "What do you think is going on here?"

Manchester had some definite possibilities, a nice industrial city like that, still working on recovering from an economic collapse. Anyone could be hiding in Manchester – and probably was. "Huh?" the Doctor said finally, cluing back into the conversation. "Oh – ah, I am sorry, you're married aren't you? So sorry, my mistake, could have happened to anyone." Someday he was going to alter his screwdriver to point out which groups were happily _together_ and which weren't, it would save a lot of time and confusion in the long run. Donna would have told him to just get his act together and pick up some social skills – but he _wasn't thinking_ about her… Manchester. Right.

James parked the truck on the side of the motorway. "Married? Where are you from, then? We're two blokes, aren't we? How could we get married?"

Liverpool, much the same as Manchester, except with the addition of a port – and the Titanic, and the Beatles, nice culture, lots of history. Perfect location for him to park the TARDIS. "That matters?" York – even more history than Liverpool, Vikings and Romans and half a castle – he liked history, the TARDIS could be there. Wait. "What year is it?" he said, looking up sharply.

Mark relaxed, but only slightly. "Where've you been, mate? It's 1995. Look, I don't want anyone in my truck who's high. If you're on drugs, I want you out!"

The Doctor frowned, finally applying the whole of his brain to the discussion. Well, not _all_ of it… But given that all of his brain would successfully power a small city, he wasn't too worried about that being obvious. "I'm not on drugs. I haven't eaten in several days, so I'm, ah, pretty sure I'm not on drugs. 1995 – you've got about oh, ah, eighteen years to wait, but don't worry, you'll get there eventually."

"What are you _talking_ about?" James yelled.

Flopping his head against the headrest again, the Doctor sighed. "Marriage for everyone. It's coming. You'll be able to get married someday."

Mark's sharp frown returned. "How do you know this?"

"Right," the Doctor sighed, "you evidently haven't met me before. Yet. Whatever. Just – it's nothing to worry about. I just – whatever." He groaned. "Is it always this hard, taking the slow path?"

James laughed. "Our luck we picked up a crazy, eh, Mark?" Restarting the engine, he pulled back onto the road. "Whatever you want, Doctor. You wanna make crazy predictions, that's your choice."

The Doctor relaxed, edging towards sleep. Bristol – also old. The problem with Britain, he contemplated, was that _everything _had history, making it hard – nearly impossible – to tell where he had parked the TARDIS.

He wasn't sure when he'd fallen asleep – and that was a good enough indication by itself that something was wrong, he _never_ needed to sleep – but somewhere around Nairn, Mark woke him up. "Food? We're stopping for a late luncheon if ya want anything."

The Doctor opened one eye. "No money, remember?" He wasn't particularly interested in food anyway, being far more concerned with possible cities.

"We'll cover you," James said. "Unless you wanna buy half the restaurant, then we'll hafta talk, but otherwise…" He spread his hands.

"I love you," the Doctor said, "well, not like that, but you're a wonderful amazing person and I love you."

James laughed. "You're an odd one, Doctor. But I think we'll get along just fine."

* * *

Somehow the Doctor ended up with a green salad, which suited him. It also got him odd looks from James and Mark, who were both having hamburgers. That the waitress had refused to take money from him hadn't helped any.

"So," Mark said as they all sat down at a plastic covered table. "What's going on with your outfit?"

James shoved him. "We didn't want to ask," he explained, "you looked a bit scattered when we picked you up. But it's been bugging Mark here – I mean, you're in the moors of Scotland, missing a boot, no gear, no partners – what's going on here?"

The Doctor blinked, not having anticipated that question somehow. "Ah – thieves. I was out exploring – on my own, I'm good at that – and, ah, a group of thieves found me. I managed to run away, but, ah, I lost a boot in the process." It wasn't quite a lie – well, mostly not – but it certainly wasn't the truth.

Mark shook his head, frowning. "Rotten luck, mate. If you need anything when we drop you off in Inverness, let us know."

That also hadn't been expected. He wasn't sure what he had been expecting, but it hadn't been open acceptance. Sitting upright, a smile burst onto his face. "I _love_ humans! Best species in the universe! Well, almost. Well, not quite. But you're right up there! You just – you just – you're absolutely amazing, that's what you are. Absolutely flipping amazing."

James' eyebrow shot up. "You talk like you're not one. Not one of us."

The Doctor froze. Two options, always two options. Say what was in his head or try to keep a secret again. He gave it up as a bad job. He'd never been any good with secrets. "I'm not."

"What." That was Mark, who had dropped his hamburger.

_Better. Companions make you better. Less likely to end the universe, among other things._

Why in the name of the TARDIS was his inner voice so sarcastic? "I'm – ah – I'm not from around here."

Mark frowned. "Let's continue this when we're in the truck. If you're telling the truth – we shouldn't be discussing this in the open."

_I don't deserve people this intelligent._

This was, unfortunately, probably true, but he didn't have the time or the inclination to explain this to them. Grinning, he said, "Intelligent lad, aren't you?"

James grinned back. "You bet your balls we are."

Lunch was packed up rapidly and then Mark led the way back to the car. "So," he said, starting the truck. "You were saying."

The Doctor flopped into the back seat and grinned. "I'm not human. I'm – well – I'm like a policeman. Sort of. Or – or – or a – I dunno, I've never had to explain myself before. Usually something odd's already happened and all I hafta do is explain me, not the whole mess."

James turned around in his seat, snorting. "Then try at least."

Running a hand through his hair, the Doctor sighed. "Humans – you're not the only species in the universe. There's more – there's so many more, more than the stars in the sky. Some – some of them, they're like Switzerland, all peaceful and uninvolved. Others – they're like the States, busy trying to run everyone else's life, interfering little bastards, but with the right ideas. And then there's, oh, Nazi Germany or Soviet Russia, who want to take over the world – or the universe as the case may be – and don't care how many die in the process. Finally, there's groups like you lot – ah, like India or Zaire – you're just getting started. You're still stumbling your way to a proper government and interstellar travel and sonic screwdrivers.

"I travel about protecting the likes of you and Switzerland from America and Nazi Germany. Usually I have a spaceship and – ah – thingies to show off. But – but – but someone is, ah, after me, and I _have_ to be human – or human like – so I hid all of my thingies and now I'm trying to find them again because somewhere along the line I lost half my memory."

Mark laughed, halfway paying attention to the road. "You expect us to believe _that_? No proof, just your word – I think you're bonkers."

_A bit too intelligent, I think._

The Doctor shrugged. "Your choice. I'm not about to force you into anything. But – ah – if you wanted – I dunno, if you wanted to come with me, or something, you could."

Mark snorted. "Inverness you said?" His eyes flicked to the mirrors as he prepared to make a right turn. "Hang on a bit – what's that?"

Unbuckling himself, the Doctor spun around, staring out the back windshield. "Oh – ah, that's not good."

A line of police cars was following them – actually, not so much following as chasing – at high speed, sirens on.

"You may as well pull over," the Doctor said. "It's us they're after. They're not going to stop until they get me."

Mark swerved over to the curb, swearing. "What _are_ you? Are you a criminal?" The truck jolted to a stop, screeching.

At last, that was an easy question. "No, no, I'm not a criminal. Not here, at least. No, they're not after me because I'm a criminal. They're after me because someone told them to, and all I need to do is figure out _who_!"

"Get out!" Mark shouted. "I don't want you in my car! If you're mixed up in something, I don't want any bit of it, you understand?"

The police cars surrounded them, closing off all avenues of escape. "Get out! Come out of the car and put your hands up!"

The Doctor groaned. "I really, _really_ hate being arrested. It's so – just so – so _tedious_."

"You've been arrested before, I take it," James murmured.

Grinning, the Doctor scrambled out of the car. "Yep! Sometimes, I've even done whatever it is I'm being arrested for!"

The policemen were all in riot gear and armed with rifles. Their sergeant stepped forward. "Are you the Doctor?"

"Yeah. Ah – those two – in the car – they're Mark Ross and James McKinnon. I'm manipulating them like I always do – ask your supervisor, he'll tell you that's how I work – they haven't done anything wrong. You only want me." The Doctor stood straight, hands up.

The sergeant motioned his men forward. "You are under arrest, sir, for murder, treason, an aid to murder, attempted genocide, et cetera. The full list will be presented to you in prison."

A policeman – they were all male, he noted absently – grabbed each arm, roughly pulling his wrists behind his back and cuffing them together.

Mark stepped out of the truck. "Officer? We're – we're not involved in this. He didn't tell us – he was just a hitchhiker. Officer, I swear!"

The Doctor jerked away from the policemen. "Do it, sergeant. Let them go. If you try to arrest them too, you're never going to get me back to prison." He was deadly calm, all of the rage and energy that was flooding him confined to his mind only.

"Leave them," the sergeant snapped. "We have the one we want. Put him in the car."

_At least I didn't screw over their lives. Just my own._

A rifle butt was jabbed into his shoulder. "Move it."

The Doctor turned around, completely ignoring the officer. He would cooperate for now, see what was going on with the Scottish police, and not show off all the nifty things a spare circulatory system could do. "Mark – do good, okay?"

Mark gave him a stern glare, but finally nodded, turning back to the truck.

"Stay where you are!" The sergeant unclipped his radio. Apparently he'd changed his mind regarding the pair. The Doctor's head jerked up. "Sir – he has two men with him. What should I do?"

The radio crackled and whirred.

Two policemen grabbed his elbows as he tensed. "Let them go! I'll come quietly, just _let them go!_" He couldn't get away, couldn't do anything to save them. The grip on his arms grew tighter, bruising, as he tried to lunge at Mark. Grunting, the policemen held him back. The pain in his shoulders was unbearable as he leaned forward, snarling.

The radio chirped. _"Come in, sergeant, do you read?"_

"I read, sir, what are orders? Two unidentified accomplices are present, what am I to do with them?"

"_Is the Doctor in the cruiser?"_

"Ah – not as yet, sir. You –" He snapped his fingers at the pair holding on to the Doctor. "Get him in the car."

He didn't know the voice, but it would be the height of stupidity for his enemies to speak over the radio. Breathing hard, he tried to remain calm as he was shoved into the back seat and strapped in. A restraining bar was locked over his legs and his arms remained pinned behind his back.

"He is inside the vehicle, sir."

"_Dispose of them."_

The Doctor lunged against his restraints. "_No!_ I – _NO!_" Voice cracking, he screamed at the radio, "You bloody bastard! I'll kill you again! This time I'll take your ashes and dump them in a black hole! You can't survive that one! No one could survive that one! Don't kill them! They've done nothing wrong!" He threw himself against the restraints again, ignoring the burning in his shoulders.

"_And don't let him talk!"_

"_You!_" the Doctor howled. "I will make your life a living hell! I will –"

One of the policemen standing outside the car reached in and slapped him. "Shut up."

He ignored the pain, ignored everything except the two men now standing in front of their truck, hands in the air. A policeman stood beside each of them, gun out. He _knew_ what was going to happen, _knew_ what was going on here, and these _damned human restraints_ were working too well! He was powerless, helpless, could do nothing but stand and watch the two humans he'd promised above all others to save die for no reason other than his promise to save them.

"Officer Carlin, you and your partner are to take the prisoner to Peterhead. Officers at arms –"

The Doctor made eye contact with Mark, staring deep into his blue eyes as his entire brain searched desperately for the solution he knew he wasn't going to find. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry." He couldn't keep his voice steady, even though he tried, had to shove the words out past the inexplicable lump in his throat, and above all – couldn't help.

"Fire at will!"

_One. Two._

* * *

**A/N: Yes, I know that the British police force doesn't work like that. No, I don't know actual police procedure, but it doesn't really matter. Yes, there is something going on here. Yes, I have reasons for all of this. No, I don't know what I'm doing, but that's okay.**


	4. The Missing Piece, IV

**Doctor Who, Special Series; Episode 1: The Missing Piece**

**A/N: Hello! Ah, just a general purpose disclaimer: This is based off of Doctor Who. There will be deaths. Many of them will have names. Some of them will be important characters. I'm not going to post a warning for Character Death at the top of each chapter where that happens. On that note, the highest rating I anticipate for this is Teen; keep in mind that this show airs from 7 to 8 pm GMT, "before the watershed," i.e. everyone can watch. Just so you know.**

**Been forgetting to do this, but thanks to: Flez, MrsDalek, RowanQuill, Turlough Humperdink, WindyWords123, RaquelDee, DaniPotterLovesGod, Scarlet, MyPatronusIsAPineMarten, iwright, Torkidog, and Paul (three times!). Special thanks to those of you who came over from **_**Serpent's Tears**_**.**

**Still no spoilers. Equal amounts of explanation. We're getting there though. And yes, I am aware that neither of the title characters have appeared yet. We're getting there.**

**Sonic Screwdriver Setting 42: Did you know that David Tennant has also played Hamlet and Benedick and is a board member for the Royal Shakespeare Company?**

* * *

The drive was long and uncomfortable. The Doctor didn't care so much about that. He'd gotten two more people killed. Two wonderful, wonderful men who had reminded him of all the glory of the human race: dead, because he had been lonely. Dead – as in gone, not coming back, not regenerating, no second chances.

_It's time for me to leave. I've spent too long here._

He shifted, trying to get comfortable. He couldn't stay here, but he couldn't leave either – someone was here, or possibly _something_, and they were mucking about with _his_ Earth. Or, at least, an Earth very much like his own. Didn't matter; whoever was here, he would find them and deal with them, and then he could go home. Wherever _that_ was. Of course, he had a sneaking suspicion about who was actually behind all this, but he wasn't about to do anything to confirm it. Not yet.

The Doctor let his eyes roll back in his head, feigning sleep.

_Two. I've lost two already. How many more must die, Doctor, before you realize that you must leave? How many more must die, Doctor, before you realize your own arrogance? Every time you get involved, someone dies. And it's all your fault. Your own damn fault for thinking that you could save the whole bloody universe._

_Now what? The biggest problem is, if I die, then the universe may die as well. And they certainly will win. So I can't die. I have to life. Have to save the world one last time. Save this stinking world one last time, and then I can go._

He wasn't about to fall asleep, not now, under the control of his worst enemies. That didn't mean, however, that he couldn't plot. And plot he did, all the way from Inverness to Her Majesty's Prison at Peterhead. He, of course, had no clue what was going on, no idea who his enemies were, absolutely no inkling how he got here and now, which made plotting a bit difficult, but he tried regardless.

* * *

The cell was small and bare – stone walls all around, with a small door in one, and an absolutely teeny window in another. There was a cot bolted to the floor and a toilet on the opposite side. The door was fascinating – he'd examined it on the way in, and pronounced to the unnerved guard that it was "one of the best designed doors I've ever seen!" – as it wasn't actually one door, but two. The first door opened from the hallway into a small entryway, just large enough for two, with a gun slot and a small window in the door that opened into his cell, allowing one guard to be protected and hold a gun on him while the other was in the cell with him. Except for the gun bit, he thought that was pretty clever and was even now drawing designs in on the stone blocks to implement inside the TARDIS. It kept his mind occupied while he waited to put his actual plan into action.

They'd taken his clothes and put him in a prison uniform, which consisted of an orange shirt, orange pants, white socks, and black shoes. They all fit, which made him happy, after two days in clothes that itched and rubbed in all the wrong places. What made him less happy was the increasingly unlikely prospect of being released. If his enemy was organized enough to be able to order two bobbies to shoot unarmed innocent civilians – and have them do it- then he/they were far more entrenched and powerful than he had hoped.

Which meant the normal legalities weren't going to work. He was going to have to break out and get to – oh, what _was_ the closest city? – must be Aberdeen or maybe Inverness. But how to break out…

Someone – two someones, actually, utilizing the door – brought a meal – stew, with beef and vegetables. He ignored the beef but ate the vegetables, mind still working.

After the guards came and took his tray away – much later, actually, well into a human sleep cycle, for optimum annoyance value – he began pacing. Step. Two. Three. _Four._ Not in any regulated manner, either, just striding in all directions around the room until he felt he had done it long enough. Then he casually hooked a foot around one of the legs of his bed and crashed to the floor, landing heavily on his right wrist.

He could feel it snap, heard the _crack_ echoing through the quiet room. Shutting down the nerves to that arm, he braced it against his chest. "Guard!" he shouted, his first word since the arrest. "Guard! I need a medic!" Honestly, it just would have felt stupid to call for a doctor.

The guard opened the outer door, peering through the grate. "What do you want, prisoner?"

He was pretty sure that there was a guard school somewhere that took perfectly normal people and turned them into ones who asked stupid questions and couldn't hit the broad side of a barn. "I broke my wrist," he said calmly. "I need a medic." He let his right wrist hang limp, and allowed some of the pain back in.

The guard looked at him for a long minute. "Fine. Stay there and don't do anything! I'm bringing your medic."

The Doctor grinned tightly, the pain throbbing at his mind. He wondered vaguely what his enemies had told the police here: they seemed distinctly frightened of him, which was odd, because he hadn't even done anything yet. Cradling his wrist, he sat on the bed. It really was broken, he wasn't just faking, but if he could get enough calcium and proteins in, it should heal in about two hours. Of course, that was reliant on him _getting_ calcium and proteins, which didn't look likely right now.

"I want you back from the door!" the guard shouted, appearing through the grate again.

He rolled his eyes, remaining on the bed. "I'm back," he drawled. "Come on in."

The guard unlocked the outer door, shoving the medic in first, before coming through himself and closing the door behind him. Gun out, he opened the inner door, letting the medic in. The door was then shoved roughly shut and the gun barrel poked through the slot. "Prisoner, kneel next to the bed, placing your uninjured hand on the closest bed leg. Allow yourself to be handcuffed for the duration of the visit."

The Doctor got off the bed and placed his right hand next to the bed leg.

The medic stepped into the room, a pair of handcuffs in one hand and a medpack in the other. Putting the medpack down, the medic held out the handcuffs. "I need to put these on you," he said hesitantly.

The Doctor grinned. "Go ahead, medic. And – ah – guard? Don't I have a right to privacy during a medical exam?"

The guard muttered something under his breath. "When you are cuffed, then fine. But not until then!"

Timidly, the medic clipped the handcuffs around the Doctor's right wrist and the leg to his bed. "He's restrained."

The guard pulled the gun back. "Let me know when you're done, medic." With that, he nodded sharply, and closed the outer door behind him.

"Perfect," the Doctor said quietly. "Hello, medic. What's your name, then?"

The medic pulled back, picking up his medpack again. "We're not supposed to talk to prisoners."

The Doctor grinned. "I'm not a prisoner." He laughed at the look on the medic's face. "You probably get that a lot."

The medic maintained a stony face. "I need to see your hand."

The Doctor ignored him. "Listen – I just need you to listen – I've been in here twenty-four hours." Okay, a bit of an exaggeration, but he had to make a point. Stretching out his left arm, he continued, "I haven't been charged yet. I'm not ever going to be charged. They're just going to leave me in maximum security solitary for the rest of your lives. I'm innocent, I swear! Well, of the crimes they think I've committed. Well, on this planet anyway. Regardless! I am _never_ going to get my constitutionally allotted fair trial. They're _never_ letting me out of this cell. Ever. You have to believe me – or, actually, no you don't. Not any more." He grinned.

"What are you talking about?" The medic shuffled backwards.

Fiddling with the gun, taken from the medic's belt while he was distracted, the Doctor looked up at him. "Why do you even _have_ this? I mean, _honestly_, you're a _doctor_. Why would they give you a gun?" He lifted it, and pointed it unerringly at the medic.

"I – I – I dunno. I th-h-h-hink that it supposed t-t-t-to protect me." The medic was absolutely terrified.

The Doctor was thrilled. "Didn't work, did it? I need your keys. Oh, and please don't scream. This is going to be complicated enough."

Trembling, the medic pulled out his keys and tossed them over. "P-p-please don't k-k-kill me?"

Blinking at him, he set the gun down by his right knee, exchanging it for the keys. "Why would I do that? What do you think I am, some kind of mass murderer or…" He began laughing. "Oh, that's brilliant! I still hate your guts," he told the ceiling, "but convincing them that _I'm_ the mass murderer – that's absolutely brilliant!" Basic defence strategy: find humour in everything to keep from becoming suicidal.

"Are – are you insane?" The medic scrambled backwards, pressing against the wall.

Whistling as he unlocked the handcuffs, the Doctor grinned again. "Yep! But don't worry, you're not gonna die today." He stood up, shaking out his wrist. "Ow." The nerves couldn't stay blocked off forever, else risk losing the hand, but he could alternate which sets of nerves were on at any time. Right now, his hand was convinced that it was burning up.

"Was it – was it actually broken?" the medic asked timidly. "Or – or – or –"

"Hmn?" The Doctor set the handcuffs and the gun on the bed. "Don't try to get that," he said absently. "I'm faster than you are." Unzipping his orange prison shirt with his left hand, he looked up. "Oh. Yes. It's 'actually' broken. Speaking of which, do you have any vitamin supplements?" He pulled off his shirt, folding it neatly on the bed.

The medic had a look of utter confusion on his face. "V-vitamin supplements?"

The Doctor looked at him and frowned, stretching his arms briefly. His wrist was now rather insistently telling his brain that it was clamped in a vice. "Yes – specifically calcium and proteins. Also, I need you to remove your clothes."

Trembling violently, the medic pushed off from the wall, headed for the door. "You – you can't do this! It – it's illegal! You – you!" His breath was audible even to the Doctor's ears, eyes wide and panicked, and hands clenched.

"Don't yell," the Doctor said placidly – having evaluated the situation and chosen this as the best response – before bending down to remove his shoes and socks. "And answer the question, please – about vitamin supplements." Glancing at the motionless medic, he sighed. "I'm innocent, and I know you don't believe me, but I am, and I_ have _to get out of here now. You're helping with that. I need your clothes. I have the gun," he waved vaguely at the thing, wrist complaining incessantly, "but you have to trust me, I would _never_ use it."

The medic stared at him for a long moment – 1.98 seconds, to be precise. "You – you d-don't act like the murderers I've treated."

The Doctor looked up in interest. "Have you treated many?" The socks were neatly folded and placed inside the shoes.

"N-no. I – I'm new. Just started a week ago. You – you're the first I've treated a-alone." The medic gulped, backing up again, away from the door this time.

"I don't think you were supposed to tell me that," the Doctor commented dryly. "It's not usually the sort of thing you want your inmates to know."

The medic forced a smile onto his face. Opening the medpack, he pulled out a Ziploc bag of brown fluid and a handful of white pills. "Protein pack and calcium tablets," he said, holding them out.

The Doctor ignored him for now, taking his trousers and briefs off instead. "I really do need you to strip." What was he doing messing with someone else's life just so he could survive? That wasn't the way he worked!

_Except_, the small practical voice reminded him, _because of the way prisons work, the medic won't actually be in trouble, if he can claim plausible deniability. Which he can, because we held a gun on him. Albeit briefly. And now he's cooperating, but he doesn't need to tell _them_ that._

Starting to tremble again, the medic slowly began unbuttoning his jacket. "What – what are you going to do to me?"

Completely starkers, the Doctor grabbed the protein pack and tore it open. "Exchange clothes with you, handcuff you to the bed, fake an injury, and leave," he said, before dumping the entire contents of the protein pack into his mouth.

The medic dropped his jacket on the floor, starting on his shirt. "That – that makes no sense. "

"It makes _perfect_ sense!" the Doctor burst out, dropping the empty protein pack. He tossed the entire handful of pills into his mouth. "But I don't have time to explain it now. Is this silenced?" He picked up the gun again. Already he could feel the bones in his wrist reconnecting.

The medic pulled off his shirt. "No – no, sir."

The Doctor snorted, fiddling with the gun. "Don't call me that." He picked up the medic's shirt, putting down the gun, and began pulling it on. "Good thing that you're the same size as me. Would have been a pain to break my wrist again." The pain nerves were on again, giving the others a rest, but it left the agony throbbing at his mind.

The medic seemed to have reached the conclusion that silence was the better part of valour, or whatever the stupid quote was. He'd never thought that valour was a desirable quality anyways. The medic's hands paused over his belt.

"Pants too," the Doctor said dryly. Leaving the top button open, he pulled on the jacket.

Trembling again, the medic pulled out his belt and let his pants fall.

The Doctor ignored him. Grabbing the gun, he pointed it out the window and pulled the trigger. "There's that," he said quietly as his ears began ringing, before carefully setting the gun back on the bed. Leaping over to the medpack, he rummaged through it, eventually coming out with a scalpel. He then grabbed the orange shirt, cut a ragged hole in it, and threw the scrap of fabric out the window. Glancing over at the medic, who was now naked and shivering, he sighed. "You can put on everything but the shirt. And do it fast! We're running out of time!" Tensing, he sliced the scalpel across his right wrist, severing the radial and ulnar arteries, and releasing a spurt of blood.

_That hand's already useless, no point in injuring the other one._

The pain raced up his nerves, overwhelming the blocks, and for a second he thought he was going to scream. Clenching his teeth, he stood motionless for a second, slowly resetting nerve blocks to allow him to at least be functional. Dropping the scalpel, he began scattering the blood: mostly around the hole in the shirt, but across the floor, and the bed, and eventually over the medic as well. "You dressed yet?"

The medic looked at him, frowning. "I – I'm not at all sure about this."

The Doctor looked him up and down: pants, socks, shoes, briefs not on the floor, so they had to be on him. "You're good. Put this on." He tossed the bloody shirt at the medic. Grabbing the medpack, he pulled out a plaster and a water bottle. The water bottle was immediately dropped, as he needed all the help he could get to stretch the plaster over his bleeding wrist. With that done – blood vessels, by a quirk of Gallifreyan biology, healed slower than bone, although slower was relative – he grabbed the medic's remaining clothes and began pulling them on.

"I – I could help with that," the medic said quietly, the prison shirt hanging loosely off his shoulders.

This got a brief glance as the Doctor fumbled with the belt. "I'll heal. And button your shirt." Giving up on the stupid thing – the medic was heavier than he was, and the belt holes weren't quite large enough – he opened the water bottle and poured it carefully over his hair. He _liked_ his hairstyle – alright, yes, he was a bit of a fop, but of all the things he _could_ fixate on, honestly hair was one of the lesser – but it was rather too distinctive for the current plan. The water would help slick it back and while that wasn't a particularly attractive hairstyle, it certainly wasn't distinctive, and he was about to need all the help he could get.

The medic flushed and buttoned up the shirt. "W-what was the p-point?" He waved at the new bloody hole in the shirt.

Shirt, jacket, trousers, briefs, socks, shoes, belt – he'd deal with that later, but he was _still_ missing something. It was obvious, it was right in front of him… Patting his hair down one last time, the Doctor looked up. "I need a car."


	5. The Missing Piece, V

**Doctor Who, Special Series; Episode 1: the Missing Piece**

**A/N: Brief poll: Do you want me to announce episode titles in advance? Right now you're getting the title and some quotes at the end of the last chapter of the previous episode; if you want me to, I can announce the title earlier (you're not getting the quotes beforehand, though).**

**On that note, if you figure out who the villain/antagonist/Monster of the Week is, **_**please**_** don't leave it in a review. I'd like the reviews page to remain spoiler-free for those people who are trying to figure out whether to read the fic. If you do want to check and see if you got it right, PM me. I will reply. Note: Please don't let this keep you from reviewing. If you have the time, review and **_**then**_** PM me. It will make me happy, and happy authors post better chapters!**

**Thanks to: The Prettiest Banana, I Worship Steven Moffatt, MrsDalek, and RowanQuill for their reviews. **_**Major**_** thanks to Becky, who was kind enough to tell me how to break a manual transmission.**

**Sonic Screwdriver Setting 42: All recognizable characters and settings are the property of their respective owners, notably the BBC, J.K. Rowling, and Neil Gaiman. (Props to the first person to figure out why he's on here now!)**

* * *

"Keys are in the left pocket," the medic said absently. "Hang on." His eyes focused for the first time since the Doctor stole his gun. "Why am I telling you this at all? Why – why am I cooperating?"

Patting himself down, the Doctor pulled out the keys, gave them a quick glance, and returned them to the pocket. "Low level perception filter applied on you towards me. Your brain is currently convinced that I'm actually a good friend. Which car? And I need your right hand."

The medic crossed the room and held out his right hand. "I – I didn't understand a word of that. Ford Escort Mark IV."

The Doctor clipped the handcuff around the medic's right wrist. "Pity," he said, pulling the handcuffs downwards. "Certain you don't have a VW Beetle around here somewhere?" After prodding the medic into a kneeling position, he smoothly clipped the other end of the handcuffs around the bed leg. "Right. Well, that's that. Ford Escort, you said? What colour?"

Starting to panic again, the medic jerked away, pulling against the immobile bedframe. "Ah – its grey. Slate grey! Let me go!"

"Stop yelling," the Doctor said coldly. "You're in no danger unless you draw attention to yourself." He grabbed the gun again and set it just out of the medic's reach, re-packed the medpack, and pulled out the medic's key ring again. "No key to the cell? They're clever, I'll give them that. If you mess this up," he said suddenly, realizing that the perception filter, now that it was pointed out, wasn't going to be working for much longer, "I will make your life a living _hell_." He didn't threaten, he didn't like to threaten people, but he knew who was coming, and he _had_ to be gone by that point.

Striding across the room, and completely ignoring the medic, he pounded on the inner door. "Guard!" he yelled, lowering his voice and switching accents to match the medic's. "I need you!"

It was the same guard, but the Doctor was practically oozing a low-level perception filter and that should help. "All good in there, Danny?" the guard called.

A name. He had a name. That was good. "No," he said, inserting an artificial tremor into his voice. "He – he just – he grabbed my gun and shot himself! A-and – and then h-he burst into light – I want out of here!" Honestly, it shouldn't be this easy. It wasn't even that complex of a plan – for him. Between the blood, the gunshot, and the hole in the shirt, hopefully the guard would be convinced – at least briefly – that the medic was actually _him_, regenerated. And if the guard radioed up the line… This lot could be chasing each other's tails for _hours_ before anyone gathered that he was missing.

The guard's eyebrows flew up. "Alright. We'll get you out of there, but then I'll need you to stay put so I can tell the boss, okay?"

The Doctor nodded. "J-just get me outta here!"

The guard, forgetting his safety protocols, unlocked both doors and helped the Doctor out, before closing the doors again. Unclipping his radio, he looked at the Doctor. "Grabbed your gun, shot himself, and burst into light, that it?"

He nodded shakily. "C-could I use the loo?"

"Yeah, yeah, of course," the guard said, prodding his radio into life.

_Brilliant._

The Doctor made sure his walk remained unsteady until he rounded a corner. Then he began running – he _loved_ running, it was the only thing in the universe that never got old, even when he was on his own, because he never knew what lay around the next corner – following the same path he'd been brought in by. The corridors were empty, probably for the protection of the guards, probably from him, which only made sense if he thought like his enemies, which generally led to bad things like the death of entire star systems, so he was just going to end that thought right now.

_Left, right, left, left, straight, oh drat it, there's another guard, so right, and then that'll be two lefts to get back on track._

It was easier to not think at all, easiest to just entirely avoid thinking about anything except what direction to run in. He wasn't horribly injured, and was, against all odds, rather fit, so the running didn't attract as much of his attention as it normally did. Which was a problem because his mind – his wonderful mind, the only advantage he had left – was busily constructing ways to get out of here, few of which had a death toll smaller than the population of a small city.

He stunned the guards at the outer gate – humans had rather predictable reactions to loud noises, and some rather useful weak points. If he'd had another option… But he didn't, the perception filter wouldn't work on guards on high alert, the only reason it worked on the other guard was his focus on the medic, and it worked on the medic because of his insecurity.

The Ford Escort was not hard to find, although getting the stupid thing started was another problem altogether. His last car all he'd had to do was point the sonic screwdriver at it and it would go. He knew how to drive Earth cars – well, of course he did, having driven one for years – he just hadn't done it in this body, or, in point of fact, at any point in the past several hundred years – at some point, even Time Lords stopped counting – and he was going to be a bit rusty.

So. You take the key, and you open the car – which was easy, of course, he did that every day with the TARDIS – and then the key went in the ignition, and then you turned it, at which point the car began beeping loudly and a red light flashed at him from the dashboard.

Moderately annoyed – he _did _need to get out of there, and a refusal to work wasn't helping anything – he called it something offensive in Gallifreyan, and began jostling his memory. The last time he'd driven a car… You had to push a pedal!

Humming, he shoved the rightmost pedal and twisted the key again. More lights and beeping.

He snarled at the car, and tried it with the central pedal. This time the engine caught! It made a wonderful, snarling noise as the engine sputtered and finally settled down to a low rumble. Slowly, he eased off the central pedal.

The car lurched forward with a horrible noise, somehow still a sputter while being an eternity away from the previous noise. Not being buckled, he followed it, bruising his sternum – among other things – on the steering wheel.

Giving the car a deadly glare – when did these things get so hard to start? – he got out and kicked the tire.

Well, plan B, then. Plan B was to climb out of the car and release the hood, which he could do, and then begin talking to the engine. He had no real hopes of it talking back like his TARDIS, but it couldn't hurt, and it might work. He knew that humans were just years away from voice operated technology, and this might be one of them. He hoped. "Hello. I'm the Doctor. I need to get to Aberdeen – or, ah, well, really, anywhere but here, so if you could just wake up darling – no, no, no, that's what I call my TARDIS – she's a lovely ship, absolutely wonderful – but anyway, I should probably call you something different, lovely car though, ooh I like the sound of that, lovely, lovely, please wake up, I really do need you to wake up, oh please, just one little lovely _vworp_ for me?" There was a distinct lack of response from the car. "Oh, no, no, no, no, no!"

Right, moving on to plan C. He never had a plan C. Honestly, he never really had a plan A or B, either, but at this point, he really, really needed a plan C.

_Ah!_

Slamming the hood shut, he bolted back _into_ the gaol – alright, no, not normal operating procedure, but this was an odd situation – and grabbed one of the still-unconscious guards. They didn't need to be awake for him to extract information, and surely at least _one_ of them had – bingo. All of his knowledge on how to drive a car. Extracted and now the Doctor had it and knew how to drive the stupid thing out in the parking lot.

Dashing back out again – he _really_ liked running – he clambered into the car, locking the doors behind him.

_Right. So, shift to neutral, clutch in, turn the key, wait for the engine to catch – ah, there we go – shift gears, release clutch – _slowly!_ – put in gas, and hey, we're going!_

There was a rhythm to it – clutch in, gas out, shift gears, then switch so the gas was in and the clutch was out, a light touch on the brakes, and start the whole process again to move into third – a dance to it that was almost like flying his TARDIS. Almost.

He had been smiling, the adrenaline and thrill that came from yet another successful escape tearing through his body, he felt like the grin would never leave his face – and then that thought crossed his mind. His TARDIS. Wherever she was. As for him, he knew precisely where he was: in an unbearable situation, with no advantages anymore but for his mind, but he _knew_ which enemy was here, and that made it all the worse, because he was going to need all the help he could get.

The car whined as he pushed it to its limits, roaring down the A90 towards Aberdeen. There hadn't been anyone behind him as he drove out of the parking lot, but he knew better than to rely on that. He was a good driver – well, once he got going – but the car wasn't that great, and would certainly be overtaken by a police cruiser, once they found him. And since he didn't have any of the tools necessary to hide himself…

He wasn't panicking. No! He wasn't going to panic again, he already did that. Just because he had _nothing_ and no way of getting anything and his opponent-which-he-was-_not _-going-to-think-about had everything…

He cut that thought off.

_Think about Rose._

Somehow that helped, although the panic was quickly replaced by guilt, which, helpful as it was in some ways, did not actually make him feel any better.

_Martha, then_. _NO! Not Martha. Not now. Donna?_

More guilt.

And more faces, name after name after name, of people, _humans_, whose lives were just as valuable as his for being all the shorter, people whose lives he had ruined or destroyed because he was _lonely_ and _bored_.

_The Lonely God. Always and forever. Every time I get involved, people die. People I care about are endangered, even when they don't end up dead too. I should just –_

The car wouldn't go any faster. He wasn't sure whether he was running from the police or from his past, but the car couldn't get him away quick enough.

_Great. Now I know how to break a Time Lord: remove all his gadgets and show him all the bloody ways his life's gone down the tubes._

Even Time wasn't much help anymore, although a lot of that was him. Just being in an area would confuse the Time paths around him, making it hard to see where history was going. Time swirled in eddies that were nearly visible, strands caressing the edges of his mind asking him to come help. That was what he was for, after all: to help fix the huge, glorious, never-ending tapestry that was Time and to keep the strands in place. The problem was that he couldn't afford to get distracted, not now.

_Why hasn't Time come to me before now? I've been here for two days, eleven hours, thirteen minutes, and twenty-nine seconds and this is the first I've seen of the Time strands_

Driving on auto-pilot, he extended tendrils of his own into Time.

_Hey-lo, beauty. Whatcha doing? Something's up, if you don't come to me the moment I land… Oh hey, that's na any good ta anyone, ye should na be doing that._

Someone else was definitely here, someone who had experience in working with Time and no particular interest in staying hidden. The only positive thing he could see was that they were making more or less the same changes he would have made, not that that meant much. Most of the Time Lords – the sane ones, at least – would have made the same ones. But that explained the delay: he wasn't dealing with the untamed tapestry he was used to, since The War, but with a much calmer one, already being pruned and guided by someone else. The question was, _who?_

He prodded the tapestry gently, working his way in.

_In Aberdeen, ay? Tha's good, 's a fair bit o' luck tha' he's where I'm abound for. Did ye have aught ta do wit that?_

Time purred, rubbing itself around him. This was it, this was what he'd been missing, the feeling of being connected to everything and everyone all at once, a part of Time, of the tapestry itself. He relaxed and expanded still more.

_But ye canna tell me who he is, can ye, li'l one? Och, naught to worry about, I'll find him soon enough._

Somehow he always picked up the accent of the area when working with Time, which had been both a burden and a boon on occasion. Since it had never happened to anyone else, he suspected that it was in relation to his obsession with the native species of where ever he was today, and that if he maintained the "professional detachment" he was supposed to have, it wouldn't happen. Except that would be boring.

Disentangling himself from Time, he refocused on the road just in time for the engine to start ticking. Swearing at it, he thumped the dashboard out of a vague recollection of this working at one point. A new red light flashed on instead.

At the same point, he caught a smell, not one from the leather seats or plastic mountings or metal buckles.

_Hydrocarbons, polyalphaolefins, and polyinternal olefins. Oh, that canna be good!_

Muttering to himself about shoddy human contraptions, and conveniently forgetting that the TARDIS had a tendency to do something similar, he pulled over to the side of the road, completely ignoring the sports car trying to pass him on the outside. Getting out in his usual uncoordinated fashion, he gave the now-smoking hood a baleful glare.

_Dratted thing decides to break now!_

"Thete?"

He spun, hand reaching into the jacket for a weapon he no longer carried and hadn't owned for five-hundred years. That name – all those who used that name for him were dead, long dead, most by his hand. All but one, and that one would never use it, not after what had happened.

"Damnit, Thete, I thought I heard you!"

The man was tall, and lean rather than skinny, with long black hair more-or-less pulled back, leaving a few strands framing his face, the beginnings of a slight beard, and deep-set brown eyes. He wore a long black – well, it wasn't quite a coat, but it was heavier than most of the robes he had seen – over a pinstriped suit that the Doctor immediately coveted.

But more important than what the light showed him was what Time showed him. The stranger warped the tapestry just as he did, and just as it did with him, it caressed him back. But the Doctor saw more, saw where the man was adjusting the tapestry inch by inch, so automatic he didn't even have to think, saw the thousand and one little clues that told him _what _the man was – and finally he saw the thread he was looking for, the one that told him _who_, not just what.

His mind stopped. His never-ending, indefatigable ally through a thousand campaigns was broken by this discovery. He – he –

_Not possible_.

"Corsair?" His brain tumbled over the word, refusing to accept the evidence of his senses. It wasn't possible.

The man in front of him beamed, shaking long black hair out of his face. "Theta Sigma," he said smugly. "You broke your car."

* * *

_Next time on Doctor Who – Episode 2: the Forgotten Lord. _

"_You, me, pub. What are the odds that it's not involved with us?"_

…

"_New plan?" the Doctor asked. "So long as we're following the rules," he added sarcastically._

"_Shuddup. I'm working on it. I notice you're not doing much."_

"_You wanted _me_ to plan?"_

…

"_Bartemius Crouch, Jr., if you surrender now, you will be given the Kiss upon arrival to Azkaban."_

…

"_Hello. I'm the Doctor."_

…

"_You shouldn't be worrying about the Doctor killing the Order of the Phoenix. You should be worrying about him exterminating the entire planet. Or doing nothing, he likes that too."_

…

"_We are at war. People die."_

"_Not when I'm here they don't."_


	6. The Forgotten Lord, I

**Doctor Who, Special Series; Episode 2: The Forgotten Lord**

**A/N: Nobody responded to the poll, which makes me wonder how many of you read these notes… Once again, I'm dropping hints as to the antagonist(s); if you figure them out, don't leave it in a review, PM me instead.**

**Thanks to: xXxTearsOfTrueLovexXx, The Prettiest Banana, and Paul for reviewing.**

**Sonic Screwdriver Setting 42: Not mine. Really. I'm pretty certain I would know if I owned any part of the Beeb, and I don't, so…**

* * *

He hadn't been bothered by the instantaneous transport, or the offer of a drink, or their arrival in a street that bore no resemblance to any he'd ever seen on Earth in the 20th century. What had thrown him – was still throwing him, would probably continue throwing him for the next week or so – was that the Corsair was alive, and not dead, and not trapped behind a Time Lock, like every other Time Lord in the universe. All of the universes. He _liked _the Corsair – no, not like that – alright, yes, like that, but it had been a long time ago and was all over now – but to have him just _show_ up again, completely out of the blue… It shocked the Doctor.

The Corsair threw an arm around the Doctor's shoulder, who returned the gesture. "Talk before or after we start drinking?" he asked, walking down the street to a building that looked distinctly like a pub.

"After," the Doctor said quickly. "I think we're both gonna need the alcohol."

Pulling the door open, the Corsair led the way to an empty table in a corner. "Excellent." Looking the Doctor up and down, he said, "I'll pay."

The Doctor frowned at him, choosing a seat with his back to the outer wall. "You don't have to do that." Debts and obligations and other things he tried to avoid as much as possible. It made things complicated when he had to leave again.

The Corsair joined him, facing the same direction. "Got money? Got any way of _getting_ money?"

The Doctor tensed almost imperceptibly. He was weak, and he knew that, but to have another Time Lord know, even a friendly one, grated at his well-developed sense of self-preservation.

Nothing, of course, was imperceptible to a Time Lord. "Precisely," the Corsair said, wearing that smile that had annoyed almost every species he had ever come in contact with. "Here." He pulled a jumble of silver coins out of one pocket, scattering them on the table. "Get us two beers. The coins here are called sickles."

Picking them up, the Doctor examined one. "One hundred per cent silver. I'm impressed," he said, quirking an eyebrow up. "Why can't you get them?" he asked suddenly.

The Corsair's slight smile turned into a broad grin. "I'm a convicted criminal," he said proudly. "Don't wanna call attention to myself."

He should have known that would be the answer. Rolling his eyes, the Doctor strolled over to the counter. "Two beers, please."

The bartender gave him an odd look, eyes flicking up and down. "Eight sickles." He passed over two full tankards.

Passing over the coins, the Doctor nodded to him, grabbing the tankards. As he sat back down at the table, he raised an eyebrow at the Corsair. "Bartender doesn't like me."

"Can see why," the Corsair quipped. "You're a bit of a scrawny git this time."

"Oi!"

The Corsair snorted. "Drink up, then."

The two drank in silence, content in their friendship. It was shocking to the Doctor how quickly they had settled back into their old easy companionship. He was used to a moment – or a year or so – of awkwardness after picking up a new companion, but this – this was new. Or old, depending on how he looked at it.

Strands of overheard conversation floated through his ears, sticking only long enough for him to recognize them as heard, but never connected.

"He says _he's _back."

"There'll be an election soon, I'm telling ya. Fudge hasn't got long left."

"The lock is weakened."

"Bet you fifteen three that there's another escape this fall."

"Who first?" the Doctor said finally.

The Corsair drained his tankard, looking mournfully into it. "Me. I've got the feeling that yours'll take longer than mine."

The Doctor sighed. "You're probably right about that."

A scattering of cracks drew his attention before anything further could happen, each one accompanied by the arrival of a red-robed body into the pub. "What's that?" he said, standing up.

_No screwdriver, drat it, which is going to make this much more complicated._

"Apparation," the Corsair said calmly, not bothering to move. "It's how we got here."

Somehow the Doctor doubted that was all there was to it. "You, me, pub. What are the odds that it's _not_ involved with us?"

The Corsair snorted. "Low. But really – no one's gotten a good look at my face."

"_Barty Crouch!_" one of the new arrivals bellowed. "We know you're here! Come out and surrender!"

One of the Doctor's eyebrows popped up. "Who?"

"A lunatic," the Corsair muttered. "Affiliated with a terrorist group here. Complete nutter. My godson ran into him; he's mad as a hatter and dangerous to boot."

The other eyebrow snapped up to join the first. "Since when did you have a family?"

The red-robed newcomers were spreading out, examining each customer before moving on.

"Forget that," the Doctor said. "Let them search us, or leave first?" His eyes moved so fast they seemed to flicker: there were two doors, but the red-robes blocked both of them, a window – too small – the door into the taproom – possibility – the roof, the exterior walls…

The Corsair grinned. "I'm not supposed to be here."

It was the Doctor's turn to snort. "Since when have you ever followed the rules?"

The grin spread. "Since never. Should we have some fun?"

"No dead," the Doctor said quickly, knowing the Corsair's questionable morality. It wasn't that the Corsair _liked_ to kill – he wouldn't have had anything to do with the other Time Lord if he did – it was just that he didn't mind if something happened.

The Corsair mock-pouted. "You take all the fun out of it. Plan? Or just mess with their heads?"

"The second," the Doctor replied, grinning himself.

Standing up, the Corsair swept shaggy black hair out of his face. "Oi! Blood-cloaks! Certain you're not looking for Bellatrix? They must look enough alike to you!"

The closest of the red-cloaks spun to look at them. "Sit down! We'll get to you, don't panic."

The Doctor threw an arm around the Corsair's shoulder. "Clean out your ears! We weren't panicking; we were just – ah – messing about!"

A mind politely touched his own. _They're Aurors_, the Corsair said. _Policemen. Grab my hand when I say so._

_Right_, the Doctor replied. Time Lords were mildly telepathic; line-of-sight was required, but because both the sender and the receiver were Time Lords, it took practically no effort to communicate.

"I said sit down!" the Auror bellowed. "We're looking for a dangerous criminal, and you are impeding our investigation!"

The Doctor turned to the Corsair. "Ah – not very polite, are they?" he stage-whispered, knowing it would be audible to the Aurors. "You'd think they'd be better about _asking_ first, given that they're ar – arer – Aurors," he finally got out, the mocking effect spoiled by his inability to pronounce the new word.

The Corsair snickered. "You know, I've heard that the reason Aurors are so pissed off all the time is because they're trying to compensate for something."

The Auror stomped over to them, pulling out a long, skinny stick.

The Corsair mentally snickered. _It's called a wand. The locals use it to perform magic._

He perked up, interested. _Really? Magic?_

_Appears to be. That's always been more your area than mine._

The whole exchange had taken 239 milliseconds. The Auror was still on the way over. "How dare!" He stopped with that, mouth slowly working out a word.

_Not too bright_, the Doctor commented.

The Corsair frowned suddenly. _Not good. He's seen my posters._

The Doctor's eyes flicked to him. _Thanks for the warning_.

267 more milliseconds.

Grinning, the Corsair pulled out his own wand. "The name you're looking for is Sirius Black."

The Auror raised his wand. "You! Both of you!" His eyes flicked back and forth between the Doctor and the Corsair.

_Sirius Black?_ the Doctor asked, backing up.

The Corsair shrugged. _I needed a name. It sounded nice._

_Why are you named after a star and a colour? And not even a pretty colour!_

_That is _so_ you! We're about to be attacked, I reveal that I've created a not-precisely inconspicuous persona that's about to get us both thrown in jail, and you focus on my bloody name!_

_Would you rather I panicked?_ the Doctor pointed out calmly.

485 milliseconds.

"Captain!" the Auror yelled. It seemed to be his natural volume. "We've got a problem!"

_We need to leave_, the Corsair said. _I can't afford to be seen here_.

The Doctor frowned at him. _Oh, so _now_ you're following the rules?_

_I have a godson and I'd _like_ to see him grow up, so yeah, if you don't mind, we should leave now!_

The Doctor reached out and grabbed his hand. The Corsair turned on the spot. There was a distinct lack of anything happening.

"You think we're stupid?" the Auror sneered. "Anti-Apparation ward. Put it up as soon as we got here."

Other Aurors were coming over, surrounding them, all with wands out.

_New plan?_ the Doctor asked. _So long as we're following the rules,_ he added sarcastically.

_Shuddup_._ I'm working on it. I notice you're not doing much._

_You wanted _me_ to plan?_

_On second thought, I take that back. We're gonna hafta fight our way out._

_I don't like fighting_. The Doctor pouted.

_Deal with it._ _Make a run for it the moment you see an opening. If we can get out of the building, I can Apparate us away._

_I'm good at running_.

Another Auror – the captain, presumably – stepped forward. "Convicts Sirius Black and Bartemius Crouch, Jr., if you surrender now, you will be given the Kiss upon arrival to Azkaban."


	7. The Forgotten Lord, II

******Doctor Who, Special Series; Episode 2: The Forgotten Lord**  


**A/N: First, any and all physics that appears in here may be safely assumed to be completely made-up by me, except for when it was made up by the Doctor instead. Second, spoilers (finally!) for parts of "The Sound of Drums"/"The Last of the Time Lords" (Series 3), and "The End of Time" (Series 4 specials). If you don't know who destroyed Gallifrey, don't read this chapter.**

**Warnings: Rating went up due to swearing. And maybe some other things…**

**Thanks to: xXxTearsOfTrueLovexXx, Habato, The Prettiest Banana, RacquelDee, AliasMarie, iwright, PersonBehindScreen**

**Sonic Screwdriver Setting 42: Who else is looking forward to Christmas for reasons unconnected with religion?**

* * *

Another Auror – the captain, presumably – stepped forward. "Convicts Sirius Black and Bartemius Crouch, Jr., if you surrender now, you will be given the Kiss upon arrival to Azkaban."

_Kiss?_

_Dementors – don't know what they are at home, but they're bloody awful creatures. Suck your soul out._

_Even ours?_

_Did you want to test it?_

_Not really, no._

197 milliseconds.

The Doctor coolly raised an eyebrow. "That – ah – doesn't seem to be the best bargain. And what would our other option be?"

The Auror Captain looked at him sternly. "We have authorization from the Prime Minister to kill you if you do not surrender."

"Ah." The Doctor crossed both arms over his chest. "That would do it, yes. But, ah, unfortunately, I don't like the sound of either option." _Got a plan yet?_

_Working on it!_

_Hold on a second…_ "Who's Bartemius Crouch? 'Cause that's not me. That's never been my name. I mean – really, absolutely awful name. Honestly. Why would I go by that name?"

There was a beat of silence. One of the Aurors held up a WANTED poster.

"Oh no, no, no, no, _no!_ That is _not _me!" It was, he had to admit, a rather nice likeness, and he really wanted to know how they'd invented flexible video screens this early. He was, however, pretty sure he hadn't been foaming at the mouth any time recently. But _what_. Bartemius Crouch? What had he – "I've been human," he muttered. "Apparently I was busy."

The Corsair grinned. "Looks like all those inflexible morals go right out the door when you're human. You're wanted for murder, you know. That, and not being polite enough to stand still while they try to suck your soul out, but I can't blame you for that."

"Murder?" The word was strangled, half-blocked by the sudden large bowling ball that had ensconced itself in his chest. He couldn't have killed someone, even when human he wouldn't have done that, it wasn't possible. Equally evidently, he had.

The Auror Captain cleared his throat. "Do you surrender?"

The pair of Time Lords exchanged glances. "Nope," the Corsair said grinning, "and Doctor, I bet you a round that I can take them all down._ Duck!_"

The Doctor flattened himself to the floor as a fire fight broke out above his head. The Corsair was good, defending himself easily against the – ah – six Aurors he was facing. "Bet taken!" the Doctor called back, grinning.

Which was, of course, when it all went downhill. One of the Aurors did something that surrounded him and his companions with a blue shimmery hemisphere. The spells the Corsair cast hit it and rebounded at odd angles. The other Aurors were ready and able to block. The patrons were not. When the Corsair put up his own odd hemisphere, and began casting through it… The Doctor winced in sympathetic pain as first one patron, then another, went down screaming.

_RUN!_

The word seared his brain, but it was the only thing that could cut through the brief stupor he was in.

Shoving himself off the floor, he kept his head down to avoid the bolts of jagged light. A flick of the Corsair's wand downed an Auror, and he bolted for the gap that left in their circle. He elbowed one of the men out of the way, and dove over a table for shelter.

There was a moment – 892 milliseconds – where he just stared at the body he'd landed on: a man, young, about twenty-five, with short brown hair, and wide, staring hazel eyes. Panting slightly, the Doctor reached down and gently closed them.

_Three._

Swallowing, he began making his way towards the door, determinedly ignoring the noises from behind him. Tables had been knocked over and scattered, chairs were lying on their sides, and there were bodies.

_Four. Five._

_Aren't you gone yet!_

He ignored the Corsair, focusing instead on one last dash for the door. A bolt whirred over his head, forcing him to duck and roll. He smacked a shoulder into the doorjamb on the way out, but counted himself lucky – the next bolt of light hit a bystander, and the Aurors weren't looking to just haul them in any longer.

_Six_.

He ran to the edge of the street, ducking behind a stall to wait for the Corsair. _Ready when you are_. Fewer bolts were exiting the pub now, but that didn't lessen the amount of noise coming from it.

_Get out of the way!_

Unlike every other message he'd received from the Corsair, this one wasn't directed just at him; he could see every other person on the street flinch and jump away from the pub. Just in time, too, as the building chose that time to explode. Violently. In flames.

He ducked a moment too late, and the ashes singed his eyebrows. He did manage to avoid the shards of wood that came his way a moment later, but not everyone was so lucky.

_Seven. Eight. I think. Damnit, Corsair, that was a child!_

The Corsair himself came running out, the back of his coat on fire, grinning madly. _Ready? Doesn't matter, we're leaving now!_ Grabbing the Doctor's hand, he turned on the spot. The world faded to black. Everything blurred and spun, constricting and stretching around the Doctor in a nauseating fashion. At least that's what it would have felt like to a human. To a Time Lord it felt entirely different.

_Home_. _This feels like home._

The tapestry of Time was a simplification of a simplification. Time – technically, space-time, but that was a bit of a mouthful for everyday talk – and its interactions with causality, the fifth dimension were too complex for even Time Lords to understand completely, thus each one came up with a mental image they could understand and work with. For his metaphor, tapestry was the closest human word, even if his woven image was four dimensional instead of two. Tapestries had two dimensions, length and height, and a third implied: depth. His tapestry, meanwhile, had four dimensions – length, height, depth, and time – with a fifth implied – causality.

From his point of view, Time was acting very odd. He was moving along the tapestry in three dimensions, but not time, which was odd, because usually that only happened when he was utilizing the space aspect of his TARDIS.

They landed. The world came back. They were now on a street in the middle of a residential district in – he checked Time– still in London.

The Corsair reached his wand over his shoulder, releasing a spray of water that extinguished the flames. "That's better."

"Do you have a vortex manipulator on you?" the Doctor asked as soon as the world stopped spinning. Time travel without a capsule - absolutely awful. It left him wanting to vomit up a heart, or possibly what was left of his spleen.

The Corsair laughed. "It's magic, Thete."

"Stop calling me that," he said without rancour. It was a stupid name. It had been a stupid name when he chose it at the Academy, and nine hundred years later it was still a stupid name.

Smirking at him, the Corsair snorted. "If you'd've come with me, I would've called you that until you quit whinging."

"Glad I ran away first," the Doctor quipped. It was a long running argument between the pair, and that the Corsair was still having it with him served to fan the hope inside the Doctor.

_I killed them all. He – does he know? Could he possibly know? … Could he ever forgive me?_

The Corsair grinned madly at him, and for a moment he could forget. The moment ended, however, when the Corsair drew a scrap of paper out of one of his coat pockets. "Read this."

The Doctor raised an eyebrow, but complied, grabbing the paper and holding it up to his face. _The headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix may be found at number twelve, Grimmauld Place, London. _"I'm sure there's a very good explanation for all of this," he said quietly.

Laughing, the Corsair slapped his shoulder. "It's fantastical. Look up."

He rolled his eyes, but obeyed. There had been fourteen townhouses on the street, numbered one through eleven, and then thirteen through fifteen. Now there were fifteen, and the twelfth house had appeared. "Ah. Low level perception filter?" A fancy-arse way to say _hormones that tell the brain not to look_, but there it was.

The Corsair laughed again. "Close enough. Come on in." He led the way to the front door, pulling a key from another pocket and unlocking it with ease that spoke of long familiarity.

"Since when did you own a _house_?"

Oh, but he'd missed that _laugh_. The Corsair when he was proud of himself was the most flamboyantly happy being in the universe, his entire body radiating pleasure. "Since I had a life, unlike you, wander-foot."

The Doctor shook his head, smiling. "I _do_ have a life. And you're not one to whinge about wandering."

The Corsair practically shoved him into the house, closing the door behind them.

"You own a townhouse in central London, can't you afford lights?" Even to his alien eyes, the hallway was dark. He could only barely make out the edges of ornate picture frames lining the walls, a ragged carpet on the floor, a broken chandelier hanging from the ceiling. "Seen better days, have you?" The Doctor's eyes swept the hallway.

_Door at my back, locked – bolt and chain, not too hard to open – two doors at far end, one to my right, one straight ahead, unclear where they lead. Conclusion: if danger appears, exit building._

The Corsair was standing close enough that the Doctor could feel his flinch. "Yeah. Yeah, better days. That, and wizards don't believe in electricity."

One part of the Doctor's mind categorized this as a poor attempt at distracting him from the much larger issue at hand. The rest focused on the last sentence. "Wizards? What. How can they not _believe_," he spat the word like a curse, "in electricity? It doesn't depend on their _belief_."

Squeezing past the Doctor – the hallway wasn't all that large – the Corsair made his way to the opposite door. "I'll explain, but you'll want to be seated first."

The next room was a large kitchen that could have been pulled out of any medieval manor: broad, cobblestone flooring with a massive oak table in the centre, torches sputtering on the walls contrasting with the fireplace that the Doctor could have easily laid down in were there not roaring flames in there instead.

Completely nonchalant, the Doctor grabbed a chair, and sat down, swinging one leg over the other. "I'm ready." Any lingering alcohol had long since been burnt off by his high metabolism and adrenaline, but judging by the events of the previous days, they didn't have time to get good and drunk first.

The Corsair sighed, plainly readying himself. Walking around behind the Doctor, he touched his hands to the other man's head… And pushed.

The Doctor tensed, absorbing the flow of information.

_Regeneration a boy annoyance need to age come to new world amusement pick family wands magic pureblood spells Hogwarts professors James Potter Marauders Remus Lupin that-bastard-Pettigrew Snivellus Lily Evans Professor Dumbledore Professor McGonagall Animagus dog rat stag werewolf He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named the Dark Lord Voldemort Death Eaters Regulus Black the Order of the Phoenix Harry James Potter my godson Godric's Hollow that _rat!_ death pain fear hatred explosion Aurors Azkaban Dementors hatred misery depression death pain why can't I die! newspaper escape running Harry kill the rat Snivellus Remus I'm so sorry Harry escape running He's back._

Gasping, he fell forward, bracing his arms against the table to keep from knocking himself out. Thirty-one years of memories swam through his head, mixing with thirty-one years of knowledge about a world utterly foreign to him. It took a moment – 4.39 seconds – to get them sorted and settled down, to analyse the important details, and to figure out what was missing. "You're leaving something out."

The Corsair sighed from behind him. "Yes."

The Doctor picked through all the possible meanings that word could have, went through his available answers, and ignored the comment. "Someone's trying to take over the world."

"Yes," the Corsair said again, sitting down across from him. "And commit genocide in the process."

Sitting back up and stretching his neck, the Doctor raised an eyebrow. "I'd gathered. You regenerated as a _five _year-old?"

Startled, the Corsair laughed, finally relaxing. "Yes. I hated that age the first time, and hated it just as fucking much the second."

"So you shut down your regeneration centre and waited to grow up. I got that," the Doctor said casually. "But why stay?"

And with that, the Corsair's relaxed posture vanished. "I made friends here."

The eyebrow popped back up. "Friends for whom you suffered twelve years in the worst prison imaginable? Which, by the way, I am going to pull down, stone by stone. And now that I think of it – why didn't you?"

The Corsair forced out a laugh. "I was bored, and my TARDIS is having mechanical issues. I just parked him inside my cell and worked on him for my prison sentence."

There were holes in that argument that the Doctor could have flown his TARDIS through, but he wasn't going to point them out. He knew where this was going and he wasn't quite ready to deal with it yet. Instead, the Doctor ran a hand through his hair, making it all stand erratically on end. "Alright. My turn, then."

He knew precisely what he would be giving the Corsair and what he would be holding back, he'd had these memories prepared ever since the end of The War, just in case. Standing slowly – if the Corsair had no knowledge of what had happened, this could go very, _very_ wrong – he crossed the room to stand behind the Corsair and touched his hands to the other man's head.

It seemed to take forever, the outpouring of information and sensation, holding back the details of Rose and Martha and Donna and Jack, but giving him everything else that could ever, possibly be relevant, and more than a few things that probably weren't. His guilt, for one, his horrible overbearing guilt at everything that he had ever done, was doing, and would ever do.

Finally he pulled back, severing the connection, and watching the Corsair go through the same process he had – collapse, spent to the table, brace himself as he dealt with the information, and eventually leap out of the chair, fuming.

"You killed them," the other Time Lord bit out, calmly coldly _furious_.

_He didn't know, then. That'll make this that much harder._

It took him a moment – 756 milliseconds – to shut down every emotional centre he could find, to close off all of the areas that would take this from potentially-flammable to imminently-explosive. "Yes," he said finally, cutting the word off short.

"All of them!" The Corsair shoved the chair out of the way, knocking it over. He planted one hand in the centre of the Doctor's chest.

He swallowed, backing up. "Yes." Yes, all of them, yes, every single bloody Time Lord dead except for him. He could completely understand and sympathize with the Corsair's anger, he'd gone through that himself for a hundred years.

Something horrible flickered across the Corsair's face. "You were married, weren't you? Had kids, didn't you? A granddaughter, even?"

The words seared across wounds he'd thought long since healed. "_Yes!_" Susan Susan Susan. He couldn't escape from the memory of their eyes, staring disbelieving at him, refusing to accept that he was going to destroy their world.

"And you killed them," the Corsair said with terrible finality, "you murdered your family."

There was nothing he _could_ say to that, the lump in his throat wouldn't let him. He nodded, though, breath hissing in and out rapidly. Yes, yes he had killed his granddaughter. He knew that, and at one point he had even confronted it. To bring it up now, though –

"You utter _bastard_. Tell me how you're different from _him_!" The Corsair leaned forward, almost foaming at the mouth.

No need to elaborate on who _him_ was. The Doctor pressed his back against the wall, feeling his shoulder blades shove into the cold plaster. "It had to be done," he said quietly.

Muscles strained in the Corsair's neck as he barely held back a blow. "You _bastard!_ You didn't even give them a chance to get off!"

That, finally, was the wrong stab at the wrong wound. He could not hold his anger back any more and shoved himself off the wall, pushing at the Corsair's chest. "Look again! Yes I did! I gave them all the time I could afford, and _none _of them took it! If I could do it again –" He faltered, keenly aware of the choice he would have to make if he did it again, keenly aware that the same horrible events would happen again, keenly aware that nothing he could do would prevent the same utter catastrophe from occurring. His mouth worked for a moment before he found his words. "I did my best to save them and I couldn't," he finished, quieter. Not a one had listened. Not a one had paid the slightest bit of attention to his frantic warnings.

"Here's what I don't get," the Corsair spat, furiously calm again. "Why? Why would you, peace-loving little bugger that you are, commit genocide twice over? And not just that, but then do the very damn best that you could to keep us – _your own people!_ – extinct!"

He flinched again, the words tearing open gaping holes he didn't even know he had. And finally, finally he struck back, returning the yells at full volume and with the same power behind them. "I! Had! No! Choice! Rassilon was mad, he was going to destroy the universe, my only option was Gallifrey or reality! Which would you have chosen?"

"Coward or killer, Doctor?" the Corsair returned.

_Why did I give him _that_ memory?_

He knew why, of course he knew why, it was important, the survival of the Daleks again, but he had never imagined that it could be used against him like _this_. "At worst, the Daleks would have survived! A universe of Daleks, yes, but a universe nonetheless! Under Rassilon, there would have been nothing! _Nothing!_ Have you ever seen the universe after the end? I have and it's not a picture I wanted!" That had been a memory he had kept behind, solely to protect the man who had been his friend. It had driven him mad, once, and it had taken him forever to come back from the insanity.

"You _destroyed_ us, Doctor. You obliterated the greatest race to ever exist. That is_ unforgivable_."

Something ugly and uncontrollable drove him to strike back and return the blows. "I _watched _it. I _watched_ him end the world. The Nightmare Child feasted and the Could've Been King ruled what was left. At the end, it was only paradoxes and monsters. Nothing recoverable. I had to loop time, and even that was barely enough. Do you understand now? There. Was. No. Other. Choice. The end of Time. The end of History. The end of everything that ever was, ever had been, and ever would be, staring me in the face. And I had to fix it. What would _you_ have done?"

Finally, _finally_ the Corsair flinched. "I want you out," he growled.

The Doctor fully agreed with this assessment, for once. Reining in his anger – that horrible, uncontrollable fury that had destroyed worlds several times over – he spun and strode for the door.

"Sirius?" a new voice called – old, strong, commanding. Someone, then, who was used to control. "Who's this?" The voice belonged to a man who fit it: aging, yes, but still completely in control of his body and mind. Long white hair and beard, piercing blue eyes not at all concealed by a pair of half-moon reading glasses, a nose that had been broken – ah – twice, and those funny robe things that everyone here seemed to wear.

_Robes = wizards. Regular clothes = muggles, or young wizard._

He ignored the flow of new information, reading Time instead. This man's threads were bound into the Corsair's, but also with a thousand other people the Doctor didn't know, and with several vehement threads he did.

The Doctor turned to face him full-on, finally meeting his eyes. "Hello." His voice didn't tremble, from anger or from loss, and he was able to force a smile up. "I'm the Doctor."


	8. The Forgotten Lord, III

******Doctor Who, Special Series; Episode 2: The Forgotten Lord**  


**A/N: I thought I should point out that, unlike a lot of other fanfic authors, I don't just throw around details for no reason. Every (well, almost every. Well, most of them) aside and throw-away line is either a red herring or a Chekhov's Gun. Or occasionally both, but for different things. I'm just getting a little worried/confused because none of you have been picking up on some fairly unsubtle hints regarding the antagonist, the arc words, some future plotting, some backstory, etc. Once again, to avoid spoiler-ing new readers, PM me with your theories rather than leaving them in reviews.**

**Speaking of throw-away lines and spoilers, there's a little one in here for **_**Journey's End**_** (series 4).**

**Thanks to: PersonBehindScreen, The Prettiest Banana, Paul (twice!), York, and FlyingLovegood123 (also twice!).**

**Sonic Screwdriver Setting 42: Did you know that putting disclaimers at the top of each chapter would not prevent you from getting sued, and can actually increase the amount you are eligible to pay? (Because you are demonstrating that you **_**know**_** you are breaking copyright, as opposed to just being stupid)**

* * *

The man paled noticeably. "Sirius – do you know who this is?" One hand flicked inside his robes and pulled out a wand, pointing it at the Doctor.

Taking a step back, the Doctor raised both hands. "Probably better than you do," he said, trying to figure out which direction the man had jumped in.

The Corsair looked between the two, still trembling from anger. He jerked his chin up. "An – an old acquaintance. He was just leaving. He won't be coming back."

He hadn't thought there was anything left that could hurt him that badly. Swallowing hard, he nodded to the man – the memories helpfully told him that he was Professor Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry – and rubbed a hand against the back of his neck.

Dumbledore frowned deeply at the Corsair. "Sirius! This man – you've seen the papers." He stopped, taking a deep breath, before turning to the Doctor. "Bartemius Crouch, Jr. How nice to see you again." His voice was icy and dry.

That answered that question, although he was getting really tired of being called by the wrong name. "That's not my name," he said quietly. No point in pretending to be polite, not now.

The frown was now directed at him. A number of his companions would have compared it to being chastised by your favourite grandfather. Since he'd killed both his grandfathers – and one of them he didn't regret at all – the comparison didn't make a difference. "Tell me how you escaped the dementor's kiss."

The Doctor grinned, sitting on the edge of the table. "Nope!"

The Corsair snorted, still noticeably furious, but under control enough to find humour in the situation. "You won't get anything out of him until he decides to speak. Which, admittedly, is his normal state," he added with a glare at the Doctor.

Still grinning, the Doctor raised an eyebrow. "I – ah – think you should tell me, Albus, what happened the night of the 25th."

Dumbledore twitched, keeping his attention focused on the Doctor. "You will treat me with respect. Given how involved you were in the events of that night, I find it hard to believe that you need reminding."

Crossing his legs, the Doctor ran through the Corsair's memories. Nope, nothing helpful about the events of June 25th. Well, some vague generalities, but nothing that could be connected to _him_, which was the important part. "What if we all pretended that I _was_ kissed by your, ah, soul-eating monsters – you really _should_ get rid of them, by the way, before I have to take action – but instead of dying like I'm sure you intended, the vacancy was filled by another soul. Mine. I'm not Bartemius Crouch, I never have been, and I'm reasonably certain I never will be."

Something – doubt? – flickered across Dumbledore's eyes. "I hope you will forgive me if I require proof first."

The grin focused, narrowed into a smirk. "You'll find that hard to get."

"We have ways." The wand was raised, pointed at his head.

Shocked, the Doctor scrambled through the memories, _still_ not entirely integrated. "Legilimency won't work on me," he said finally – 317 milliseconds later. "Actually there's a lot of things that won't work on me – how _did_ you find all that out, Corsair?" He leaned backwards to stare, upside-down, into the annoyed face of his one-time friend.

Something that looked suspiciously like a smile quirked its way across the Corsair's face. "A lot of very unpleasant events. I wouldn't recommend repeating them."

_Well_. _If you're gonna say that…_

"Forgiven?" the Doctor tried, still bent over backwards, almost laying on the table.

_Too soon._

The Corsair's face closed off suddenly, abruptly. "No. Never. Would you just _leave_!"

Sitting up again, the Doctor returned his attention to Dumbledore. "I'd love to. Unfortunately, there seems to be someone in the way."

Dumbledore didn't move. "If Legilimency will not work, would Veritaserum?"

"No." The Corsair answered this, oddly enough.

The Doctor turned around to look at him. "Any idea why not?"

This got a snort of derision. "When's the last time you completely let down your shields?"

_Oh. Good point._

Now that he thought about it… Rose. There had been a couple points with Rose. Since then – actually for a long while before then – he hadn't opened up completely to anyone. Not since The War. Not since a while before The War.

"There is no way, then, for me to determine that you are speaking the truth?" It would be Dumbledore who hauled the conversation back on track.

The Doctor shrugged, glorying in his newly-remembered ability to find humour in anything, in _everything_. "I could tell you things that whashisface couldn't possibly know." This was true, this was so unimaginably true, there were so many things in his head that only the Corsair would understand, and more than a few things that even he wouldn't, like the way Gallifrey looked as it shattered into nonexistence, or the look on Donna's face as she forgot about him.

Dumbledore shook his head, the look on his face already telling the Doctor everything he needed to know. "I have to be able to trust you with others' lives."

_Ouch. That hurts._

He wasn't trusted. _Him_. The Doctor, a saint in three-quarters of the religions that had ever existed – a devil in the remainder, but those civilizations were all berks anyway – not trusted with the lives of a few measly humans – not even the _majority_, but a small group, maybe forty people.

The Corsair did laugh at this, a short harsh bark that still lifted the Doctor's heart. "You shouldn't be worrying about the Doctor killing the Order of the Phoenix. You should be worrying about him exterminating the entire planet. Or doing nothing, he likes that too."

_Never mind. Time to leave, I think._

"Don't worry about that, Corsair," the Doctor said, standing up nonchalantly, "nothing may be a perfectly valid option, but I assure you, destroying the planet is not. If for no other reason than that I need my TARDIS for that, and she is, at the moment, missing. So if you don't mind," he made his way to Dumbledore, still blocking the door, "I'd really rather leave now."

Dumbledore refused to move, even when the Doctor got close enough that he _knew_ the man had to be feeling uncomfortable. "Sirius, what does he keep calling you?"

The Doctor waved this away. "It's his name. Well, it's not his name, it's just what he goes by. Well, a bit more than that, but it doesn't matter now."

"Not the point," the Corsair said, "your TARDIS is missing? Do they – can they?"

_That's an uncomfortable thought._

Pondering the problem from several sides, he eventually turned back to the Corsair. "No, - well, I don't think so. If _I_ can't feel her, then she's hiding, or she's out of time, or – it doesn't really matter, regardless, they won't be able to reach her either."

The Corsair gave this a stern look. "How certain are you?"

He shrugged. "Eh – ninety-five per cent? Ninety-six? Thereabouts, at least. She likes me; she's never liked them."

Dumbledore raised an eyebrow. "I have the distinct impression that there is a great deal I am not being told."

The Doctor grinned, returning his attention to Dumbledore. "I'm an alien. He's an alien who's been pretending to be a human for the past thirty-one years. We knew each other before we came here. He calls himself the Corsair, because he's a romantic bastard, and I call myself the Doctor because I have a hero complex. We each have a spaceship called a TARDIS – Time And Relative Dimension In Space. Mine's missing. His is broken. All clear?"

This actually shocked a laugh out of the Corsair. "Any other skeletons you'd like to pull out of the closet?"

"You're one to talk," the Doctor retaliated.

The Corsair shrugged. "Fair. Perhaps I, ah – there may have been an overreaction."

_Hope._

The Doctor made eye contact with him for the barest moment before grinning at Dumbledore. "I've got another question."

"Surprise, surprise," the Corsair said.

Ignoring him, the Doctor frowned at Dumbledore. "There were Aurors in Diagon Alley earlier today. Why?"

Dumbledore jerked slightly. "You have me confused with the Minister for Magic, Barty Crouch."

"That's not my name," the Doctor snapped. Of far more import though… "You were surprised. And not just because there were Aurors there, but because I _knew_." He paused, and leaned in towards Dumbledore. "You sent them."

Nodding solemnly, Dumbledore remained still. "They are all members of the Order of the Phoenix."

"You lost one, then." The Doctor cocked his head up with a sad look in his eye.

Dumbledore looked down. "For that, I am sorry."

Face calm and stern, the Doctor straightened. "Five others died this morning."

Swallowing, Dumbledore made eye contact, face calm and composed. "We are at war. People die."

That was definitely the wrong thing to say. The Doctor ran a hand through his hair. "Not when I'm here they don't."

"Yes they do," the Corsair put in. "In fact, rather more so than normal."

The Doctor glared at him. "Oh, shut up. Right, so there's a war on, and people are dying, and the only ones you care about are your own. Better yet, a bunch died this morning, because you decided to cause a great big _fire_ fight in the middle of a _shopping _arena!"

Dumbledore gave him a scathing look. "You have never cared about the dead, Barty Crouch."

"That's not my name." Focusing his thoughts, he rubbed a hand against the back of his neck.

_Yes, there's a war on here, and yes, people are dying, but I'm here, and my TARDIS is missing, and something else is going on…_

"I need to leave," he said finally. "They're here and they want me and I'm putting you all in danger and _I need to leave!_"

He couldn't stay, he couldn't place more people in danger, couldn't do this anymore. He had to get out and plan and escape and _do_ something to prepare, because he was never going to get anywhere with the information he had now.

"No," Dumbledore said calmly. "I can't let you go. Not without proof that you will not harm us."

_Us, us, us. Who's us?_

He popped an eyebrow at the Corsair. "Which of the forty-nine groups you're involved in is he referring to?"

The other Time Lord grinned. "The Order of the Phoenix."

"The rebels," the Doctor replied promptly. "Counterrevolutionaries. Completely illegal, but at least you don't kill." A memory surfaced, and he amended. "Intentionally."

Dumbledore gave the Corsair a stern look. "Sirius. Doctor – if that is your name –"

"It's not," the Doctor interjected, "but that's the best you're getting."

The stern look was directed at him, this time. "I need to see your arm; there is a mark –"

The Doctor rolled his eyes, perching on the edge of the table again. "A black tattoo, a skull with a snake coming out of its jaw, on the inside of the left arm." Half of that was from the Corsair's memories, but there was a memory of his own, of what it felt to look down and see that tattoo on the inside of your own arm. He jerked up the sleeves, both the jacket and the shirt, on his left arm and held it out to Dumbledore. "Like this. See?"

The Corsair coughed. "Not the best thing you could have done there."

Dumbledore's eyes narrowed. "You _are_ him."

The Doctor ignored this. "You knew my body was doing," he ran out of words and settled for a vague hand wave, "things. It's been – ah – a while. Who _knows_ what I could have been doing."

"Well," the Corsair drawled, finding amusement in this for some reason. "Officially, you were dead for thirteen years, until yesterday evening when you turned up, disguised as a school teacher, and played an integral part in bringing the worst Dark Lord this world has ever known back to life."

"What." His brain ground to a halt; if this was a cartoon – he liked cartoons – there would be smoke coming out his ears.

"Yes." The Corsair was grinning now, clasping his hands behind his head.

"_What._"

Smirking broadly, the Corsair nodded. "Yep. You – well, Crouch – he was a few cells down from me."

The Doctor sat up, frowning. "Corsair?" The memories didn't have much about the Corsair's stay in Azkaban, for much the same reason that he didn't share much about his time alone, after The War. "Is it important?"

"_Sirius!_" Dumbledore burst out. "Kindly allow us to remain on topic!"

Ignoring him, the Corsair shook his head. "Not particularly. You'll figure it out soon enough."

The Doctor raised an eyebrow. "I could use a little more detail, Corsair. Because really, I've been operating on limited information for the past oh – ah – three days? And I'd really like to stop sometime soon."

Their eyes met. Just the faintest touch of a mind twitched at the edge of his. _I – last time, Doctor. No more after this._

The Doctor nodded. _Please?_

_Crouch was in prison for torturing into insanity Frank and Alice Longbottom. He "died" in 1982, but apparently his father pulled a bait-and-switch using his dying wife to get him out. Crouch lived with his father, under the Imperius, until about a year ago, when he broke free and placed his father under the curse. Then he disguised himself as the Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher, entered Harry as an underage competitor in an international tournament, manipulated events so that he won and was taken to a graveyard where Peter Pettigrew was waiting to use Harry's blood to resurrect Voldemort. Harry survived – he wasn't supposed to – and told Dumbledore, who trapped Crouch in turn and got all this information out of him. Fudge – he's Minister – had a dementor administer the Kiss before verifying the information._

_And that's when I woke up._

_Yeah._

_So when did the TARDIS switch our bodies?_

_Good question. Sounds like a personal problem._

2.91 seconds. The Doctor glared at the Corsair, who shrugged. "Deal with it. You've dealt with enough on your own before."

_Yeah, and it always makes it worse._

That wasn't broadcast – he couldn't risk giving the Corsair another blade to use against him – but it evidently showed on his face.

"Maybe you should stay out of things," the Corsair snapped, turning away and throwing his shields back up again.

Dumbledore's eyes flickered between the two Time Lords. He was plainly gearing himself up to take control of the conversation again.

The Doctor didn't plan to give him that opportunity. "Albus," he said, running a hand through his hair, "by being here, I risk exposing you. Whatever – ah – magic you have set up to keep this house disguised, it won't work. There's – ah – there's a man – er, well, a, well, a thing? Well, there may be several things. We'll just stick with that. Right, so there's a thing – or several – after me – your magic won't help. He – they'll get through, and you'll all die; everyone in this house when they get here will be dead if you don't let me leave _right now_." He stood again, pacing, unable to sit still as the bodies flashed through his head.

"And what proof do I have that you will not return to Voldemort?" Dumbledore said, not moving from the doorway.

Eyebrows drawing in, the Doctor spun to face him. "Return? I – I did not _serve_ him to begin with. That was – that was… not me." How could he explain, how could he _ever_ hope to explain what it meant to remove everything that made him _him_ and place it in a watch, leaving behind only the parts that were human and unimportant, uninteresting, _unappealing_ to him any other time? How could he ever expect a _human_ to understand that what he did in that state was of no connection to what he _was_?

_How can you keep justifying murder to yourself by pretending that it was not your fault?_

He ignored the voice, pacing again. "What would you take as proof?" He spun, wishing vainly his jacket was a little longer; it wasn't flapping quite as much as he was used to.

"Attend a Death Eater meeting and denounce Voldemort in front of him," Dumbledore said promptly.


	9. The Forgotten Lord, IV

******Doctor Who, Special Series; Episode 2: The Forgotten Lord**  


**A/N: I'm sorry, it's short! The next one will be short too, but the four after that are huge! Hope that makes up for it!**

**The titles and brief descriptions to most of the episodes are now available on my profile. Anyone who is madly trying to figure out where I'm going with this should check there first.**

**Chekhov's guns and red herrings all over the place. No, I won't tell you which one's which. No spoilers that I can find. There are some hints for series seven, but nothing critical. (Either spoiler-y, or foreshadow-y) In short, if you haven't seen series 7, you won't pick up on anything, so don't fret. **

**Thanks to: ForgottenLovegood123, ScratchFox, okami34, PersonBehindScreen, Habato, and Epic Emma 2007**

**Sonic Screwdriver Setting 42: Motorbikes, fezzes and soufflé girl. I think the Christmas special will be **_**fun**_**.**

* * *

The Doctor jerked to a halt. "How long have you had _that_ idea? That – that'd be _suicide!_"

Dumbledore gave him a solid look. "If you are not willing to risk your life…"

"You'll kill me now anyway," the Doctor replied flatly. "I do beg your pardon. I misspoke. That wouldn't be suicide. That'd be _murder._"

Stiffening, Dumbledore clasped his hands behind his back. "I cannot entrust the lives of my friends to a man who serves the other side."

_Oh, you didn't like that word, did you? I should use it some more, to remind you _precisely_ what you want me to do._

None of this made it out of the Doctor's mouth. "What proof – ah. The tattoo. You intend to convict me on the basis of a tattoo I do not remember getting."

"In his defence," the Corsair muttered, "he has no proof that you don't have that memory."

The Doctor quirked an eyebrow at him. "You do, however, and he trusts you. For some reason, I don't entirely understand, but – ah – no matter. Yes, Albus, listen to, ah, what is his name? Sirius, you keep calling him. If Sirius says that I have never served Voldemort," he concealed a wince at the pain that flashed through his left arm, "then let me go."

Dumbledore frowned, but the Corsair scoffed and spoke first. "Why would I help you?"

Making a small strangled noise, the Doctor jumped towards the Corsair. He hadn't expected that, hadn't been prepared for that questioning. "I – I – I – be-because you – you and I – we – the last –" To have to justify himself towards one of his oldest friends tore at both his hearts in a way the Master had never been able to do.

The Corsair looked at him, a dark and boundless anger in his eyes. "I would not trust him, Professor."

The Doctor recoiled as if struck. It felt as if he _had _been, no, to be beaten now would hurt less than this, the last betrayal by a friend he once had trusted with all his lives.

_Why can't I die!_

Carmen said 'knock four times.' But he had heard four knocks a thousand times over since then and he was not dead! He was so, _so_ ready to be done with this regeneration, so done with this shape, this construct, this prison for his soul. So many dead because of this one face.

_And so many more saved_, the small practical voice reminded him.

He ignored it. The silence of the room pounded at his head. Da da da _da._

Dumbledore cleared his throat. "Then, Barty Crouch, you have a choice: Denounce Voldemort in front of his Death Eaters, or return to Azkaban."

_Well._

That made the stakes of the game very, very clear. He wasn't particularly interested in an extended encounter with the dementors of Azkaban, not after the Corsair's memories. Nor, really, was he ready to confront Voldemort. Which kind of limited his options, honestly.

His options, as always, were death or life. Death, to regeneration and a new beginning, to have his memories of this life fade into shadows of a long-distant past. _To sleep, perchance to dream,_ as Hamlet put it once. Life, to continue the journeys and an old body, to have a longer span with the agonizing, tearing memories.

He made the choice, as he always had, again and again. The Corsair had seen the Doctor, but only as another Time Lord, one among many. Dumbledore had never seen him, not as himself. It was time to show them both what it meant to be the Oncoming Storm.

Grinning, he sat on the table again, folding his legs. "No."

"No?" Dumbledore said, drawing the word out to two syllables. "I do not believe that was an option, Barty Crouch."

The Doctor rolled his eyes, flopping back on the table. "That's not my name." Staring up at the ceiling, he crossed one leg over the other, the picture of relaxation. "I said no, Albus. I will not – ah – pander to Voldemort," again the spurt of pain, again he ignored it, "and I certainly will not go to Azkaban. Well, unless it was to tear down its walls, but I think that's another trip."

Dumbledore cleared his throat again, plainly discomforted by the ease with which he lost control of the conversation. "Barty," he said, a distinct scolding tone to his voice.

"Albus," the Doctor replied, a mocking tone in his. "You see, you have forgotten something. Perhaps the Corsair could clarify it for you." He sat up abruptly, grinning. "How many doors are there in this room?"

There was a pause.

"One," the Corsair said finally, nodding at the door Dumbledore stood in front of.

The Doctor laughed. "Wrong! There are three!"

Frowning, the Corsair walked around the table, doing his best not to make eye contact with the Doctor. "Yes, but two of them don't lead anywhere."

"And?" The Doctor leaped off the table, forcing the Corsair to look at him. "Since when has that stopped me?"

The Corsair turned away again, grabbing Dumbledore's arm. "Stun him now, before he can do something stupid again."

"Too late!" Grin still firmly plastered on his face, the Doctor crossed the three strides to Dumbledore and latched onto his other arm. "What would you bet, Corsair, that you could curse me before I could put him in the way?"

The Corsair froze. "What did the doors have to do with anything?"

The Doctor shrugged, still firmly holding on to Dumbledore. "I didn't know where they went. It was worth a try."

"What are you planning, Barty?" Dumbledore asked quietly, making no attempt to pull away.

"I dunno yet," the Doctor said, ignoring the name. "I just make it up as I go along." He ran his free hand through his hair. "Well. Corsair – don't follow me. Albus – I seriously – oh, not that word, I don't like that word – I'd tell you not to follow me, but you won't listen, so I give you this warning: if you send others after me, and they die, their deaths are on you, and _not on me!_"

It was easy to spin and drag Dumbledore after him, pulling him out of the doorway, shifting the human's centre of balance so he fell into the Corsair. Easy. Humans were so slow when he stopped pretending. And then – he stopped for a millisecond to stare back at the Corsair, before spinning and running down the hall.

He had to get out, they wouldn't wait that long, and he couldn't outrun a spell. Well, he didn't think he could. And he didn't particularly wish to try.

Hitting the door, he swung it roughly outward. It stuck halfway out; he put his shoulder behind it, and forced the stupid thing open.

"Careful there!"

_Another human?_

The answer, it transpired, was yes, a man, slightly taller than average, red-haired, balding, wearing robes that were patched and faded. He blinked up at the Doctor. "I say, a bit more careful – oh!"

The Doctor frowned at him, stepping outside and closing the door behind him. "I know you. Well, I don't. But you look familiar. Or you will look familiar. You have looked familiar, but you don't anymore. I don't know." He stepped closer to the man. "Tenses get odd when you're a time traveller." He paused again. "Do _you_ know _me_?"

The man took a step back. "B-barty Crouch."

"Oh, not this again," the Doctor groaned. "What's your name?"

Shuddering, the man pulled out a wand. "Arthur Weasley. And –"

"Stop that!" The Doctor plucked the wand from his hand. "Arthur Weasley. I'll find you again. Got to go now. A bit – a bit of – a – a – a thing." He waved his hand – the one with the wand in it – at the door. Frowning abruptly at the wand, he tossed it into the street.

_Time to run again, I think_.

Pushing past Arthur, he took off running down the street, headed – he didn't really know where, but _away._ Again.

* * *

_Next time on Doctor Who – Episode 3: the Mark of the Snake. _

"_Charing Cross Road, gov. Seven pound twenty."_

…

"_Barty – we're going to the meeting now. I don't have the time to deal with this. You can explain to the Dark Lord."_

…

"_You're a super-secret terrorist organization trying to bring down the current government by way of mass murders and genocide, and you stop to have a conflab on how scary _death_ is?" _

…

"_I could kill you now."_

"_You could try," the Doctor said with a grin. "Lots of people have tried. Some of them even succeeded. Never quite seemed to stick," he added dryly._

…

"_Got any more great plans?"_

"_I've got five more bullets. Could try again."_

"_You've got your sources wrong if you think that's gonna work."_

…

"_No. What? No. That's stupid. Why would you do that? That's just – no." He paused, running a hand through his hair. "No, no, no, you can't be that – yes you can. Honestly?"_


	10. The Mark of the Snake, I

**A/N: Just a bit of a teaser chapter! I would be more sorry about this, but the next four are all huge, so... Next one up on Wednesday!**

**Thanks to: Paul (twice!), FlyingLovegood123, Ashlee Pond, Epic Emma 2017, and PersonBehindScreen.**

**Sonic Screwdriver Setting 42: Writing from the POV of a Time Lord plays hell with your pacing.**

* * *

He rounded a corner, not entirely sure where he was headed.

_What do I know?_

London. He was in London. Oh, he knew _loads_ of places to hide in London. The only problem would be figuring out which ones existed in 1995.

His feet slipped in the medic's stolen trainers. Too large – he'd almost rather they were too small, but then all the rest of the clothes would be too small as well, and that would make things more difficult.

Breath hissing in his ears as he ran down the streets, he muttered thanks – to who, he didn't know – that he was in a residential district. No one on the street to get in his way, a nice _orderly_ predictable grid pattern, enough intersections to turn down that it was all-but impossible to predict where he went – perfect.

The medic's clothes were a fraction too large, but not by enough to cause any actual trouble. He extended his stride easily, finding himself at that pace he could hold for hours if need be. The familiar thud-thud pattern eased the chaos in his heart. To find the Corsair only to lose him again…

It didn't matter. The only thing that mattered was whoever was behind the manipulations surrounding him. _Someone_ had the TARDIS. _Someone_ had set up his arrest. _Someone_ was controlling the British police force. _Someone _had told the Aurors that he was in Diagon Alley. _Someone _had gotten Albus Dumbledore to show up at Grimmauld Place._ Someone_ was controlling the Corsair. _Someone _had the other Time Lord freaked enough that he had hidden _his_ TARDIS and would risk death and insanity before going to get it. _Someone_ had been manipulating him from the instant he opened the watch and he was _ready for it to stop!_

Skidding to a halt at an intersection, he patted himself down rapidly. The medic had to have some personals – a faded photograph, a handful of aspirin – on him at all times, and somewhere in there… Aha! His wallet. And in the wallet – thirty pounds in assorted bills.

_Bingo._

Now to find a cab. Fortunately, this was London, and even in a residential district, there were cabs everywhere. Flagging one down proved to be a bit more of a challenge – it was the middle of the day during midsummer, the things were full of tourists – but eventually he was able to clamber into one, telling the driver "Charing Cross Road," and then ignoring the man's attempts at small talk.

He needed a new plan. The old plan – what there was of it, which never had been much – had been shot all to hell when the Corsair turned on him. So – a new plan. That man on the front steps – he had been familiar, but he couldn't come up with the correct memories. Which meant…

The Doctor grinned at nothing in particular. Arthur Weasley had now become number one on the most-likely-to-have-the-TARDIS list. It was a short list. Arthur Weasley occupied the first, last, and only spot on it.

So, next step was to find Arthur Weasley and figure out where his TARDIS was. He called Time to him, searching for the thread that went with a tall, ginger – and why did _he_ get to be ginger? – wizard, a little brow-beaten, poor… He was getting there, narrowing it down…

"Charing Cross Road, gov. Seven pound twenty."

He extracted a tenner from the wallet and gave it to the cabbie. "Keep the change." Climbing out, he wandered haphazardly over to the nearest bookstore. Bookstores had chairs and books and people and sometimes tea. All of which would be helpful at this point.

Collapsing into a chair, he rubbed the back of his neck before diving back into the Time threads. Arthur Weasley… The thread, when he found it, was strong and woven around a million others, some he'd seen before, some he hadn't. And one… But following that one would alert his enemies… He hauled himself back on track to examine Arthur Weasley's thread. It was the work of a thought to trace it back in space and find where – south. South by west. No. West by southwest, from London, go – oh – a hundred miles or so. Where did that put him? Cornwall. Devonshire, unless he was mistaken. Which was always a possibility.

So. How to get to Cornwall on twenty pounds and an empty stomach? The problem was, he could only solve the second half of that by aggravating the first. Also, twenty pounds wasn't likely to get him anywhere.

He ran a hand through his hair. Arthur Weasley was important, he knew that, but he didn't – he _still _didn't – have the resources needed to figure out _why_ and _how_.

His nervous muttering – he wasn't nervous. He was _never _nervous. Stressed, then. His stressed muttering was interrupted by a blazing pain coming from his left arm.


	11. The Mark of the Snake, II

**********Doctor Who, Special Series; Episode 3: The Mark of the Snake**  


**A/N: This one's a bit longer. **** Also, tomorrow is the 1****st**** of November, which means it's NaNoWriMo time again! I **_**will**_** be updating during November; there will be a new chapter every Saturday morning, as well as Wednesday the 7****th**** and Wednesday the 28****th****. In other words, I'm taking the Wednesdays after Veteran's Day and before Thanksgiving off. More on what this means next chapter.**

**Thanks to: FlyingLovegood123, JoojooBrother, hogwartsharpist, Ashlee Pond, Epic Emma 2017, iwright.**

**Sonic Screwdriver Setting 42: Sorry, no random trivia to throw out here. Try next chapter.**

* * *

He leaped up in shock. Yes, his arm had hurt before, whenever someone said Voldemort, which he found fascinating, but those had been little pains. This felt like someone had placed a burning poker on his arm.

He checked to make sure they hadn't. Then he checked both wrists. Yep, it was definitely the right wrist that had the plaster over it, not the left. In fact, the only thing on the left arm… The Corsair had called it the Dark Mark. Dumbledore had been shocked to see it on his arm.

Confused, he prodded the black tattoo. Nothing happened. It still sat there, black and faintly sinister, which was odd for a collection of ink pinpoints. He'd never seen a sinister tattoo before. Well, there was that one time… But it didn't really matter, because this particular sinister tattoo was on _his _arm, which was problematic. And bad. Bad and problematic. Not a good combo. In fact, rather definitively not a good combo. And he was rambling again.

He ran a long finger down his left arm. The pain was coming from the tattoo, but applying pressure to the area didn't make any difference. Frowning, he wandered up to the counter. "Ah – could I get a cuppa? And an ice cube. But ah, the ice cube isn't to go in the tea. They're separate. Please?"

The girl gave him an odd look. "That'd be seventy-nine p, please."

He extracted, with some difficulty – who _designed_ wallets, anyway? – a one pound coin. "Thank you."

She nodded politely, flinching as a screech came from the back room.

"_Mary!_ Is the safe locked? Only I see the lock sitting on the counter and –"

Leaning towards him, Mary grimaced. "Sorry sir. I'll be right back." She vanished into the back room. As the door closed behind her, the Doctor caught the sound of low murmuring.

He leaned up against the counter to wait, drumming his fingers on the counter in patterns of four. The pain from his arm was steadily increasing, and none of the normal pain blocks worked, which was odd. That suggested that it was primarily psychological, and not physical, but why would he be experiencing a flashback that included pain in his left arm, and not, say, as was more normal, pain all over?

Mary came out of the back room scowling. Passing over a Styrofoam cup filled with steaming tea, an ice cube, and his change, she smiled shakily at him.

He beamed back and took the objects, promptly dropping five p, and having to scramble to get it. After sorting all that out, he walked outside the store. This was going to be odd enough as it was, no need to freak out the customers by dripping tea everywhere. Setting the cup down, he pulled up the sleeves on his left arm above the elbow. With clenched teeth, he picked up the cup again and carefully poured some of the tea over his arm.

Pain exploded in fireworks behind his eyes. Somehow, in some horrible, terrifying, undefinable way, he was reading two sets of pain signals from his left arm: one, from the scalding tea, and the other, from… well, he didn't know what yet.

His arm was starting to tremble. That wasn't good. Dropping the cup and ignoring the wave of tea, he pulled the ice cube out of his pocket and pressed it against the tattoo. Cold warred against the burn, with the ice winning, but neither could compare to the waves of burning, shocking, tearing pain rolling up his arm.

Right, so that pretty well ruled out it being a physical trauma. Which left… which seemed to leave magic, although at this point he really wasn't certain _what_ to believe anymore.

A crack split the air, accompanied by screams. He looked around to see a medium-tall, slender man in black robes, a silver mask and the black hood of the robes covering his face and head.

"Look, Barty, did you lose your wand or something? You're late, and he's already pissed." The man stopped short, the mask swivelling to face the Doctor. "Barty? You alright?"

The Doctor raised an eyebrow, pulling his sleeves down again. "That's not my name."

The man jerked, taken aback. "Yes it is. Course it is. Are – are you certain you're alright?"

Shoving his hands in his pockets – and determinedly ignoring that one of them was now sticky and smelt rather strongly of poor quality tea – the Doctor cocked his head. "I am fine. Who's pissed?"

"Bartemius Crouch, what is going on in your little head?" For the first time the man sounded irked, rather than simply confused. "The Dark Lord, of course, but don't tell him I said that. Where _is_ your wand?"

The Doctor ignored this. "My name isn't Bartemius Crouch or any variation thereupon. I'm called the Doctor. And who are you?"

The man groaned. "_Focus_, Barty, _please_. Your wand, where is it?"

"I don't have one," the Doctor said, grinning. "Who are you?"

The groan this time was much longer and more drawn out. "Oh, _Merlin_, you've finally lost it. The Dark Lord won't be pleased. Look, just give me your hand."

Guessing where this was going, the Doctor backed up instead. "No."

"_Honestly!_" The man leaped at him, successfully grabbing the Doctor's right wrist. Turning it over, he frowned at the plaster. "Did you hurt yourself?"

The Doctor twisted his arm in vain – not, admittedly, very hard. He was fascinated by this man, and wanted to see where this was going. "Yes." Not to mention that the throbbing from his left arm was getting decidedly worse as time went on.

The man sighed, pulling the Doctor over to him. "Look, Barty, you can't just run off like this. Everyone was worried about you."

This was a blatant lie. "No they weren't. Aren't. Whatever. They – whoever _they_ are, because you still haven't explained anything – aren't worried about me because when you said that you looked down and to the right and your hands twitched."

There was a long pause from the owner of the silver mask. "Barty – we're going to the meeting now. I don't have the time to deal with this. You can explain to the Dark Lord." The man turned on the spot and they were thrown into the Time threads.

Time curled around him, caressing and bracing him. Being _in_ Time felt different than anything else, it felt like he was whole, like he was completed in a way he hadn't been since The War.

He gloried in it before being unceremoniously dropped in the middle of a graveyard. He staggered to keep his balance, noticing that his kidnapper – did it count as kidnapping if he came along because he was bored? – was considerably more off balance and actually fell to his knees. Dusk was falling, lending an eerie quality to the place – or it would have, if he hadn't lost all superstitions about graveyards over the years. As it was, he merely found the lack of sufficient illumination annoying at worst. There were two separate groups of humans near him – one standing and forming a circle around him and his kidnapper, and another, smaller, group kneeling motionless outside the circle in shadow.

_Kidnappers and kidnapped, I bet._

Brushing his jacket down – alright, no it wasn't dirty, but it certainly_ looked_ appropriate – he smiled around the circle. "Hello. I'm the Doctor."

All but one in the circle wore long generic black cloaks with silver masks either on, or hanging from their wrists. The remaining one also wore a black robe, but his was tailored, and he wore no mask. The Doctor thought that he probably should; there was a _shape_ for humans, and this man didn't fit it. For starters, he was missing his nose. And all his hair. And his eyes were red, which honestly wasn't unusual in and of itself, but combined…

And Time was being _very_ odd. The tapestry looked foreshortened, as if someone had yanked on a thread, distorting the area around it. There was a thread – well, it wasn't a thread, was the problem. It _wasn't_ a thread, it was a point, and that was odd and _wrong_ in a way that felt like someone had removed his sinstracirculatory system. It made sense, he supposed, processing the incoming information a thousand times faster than a human, because Voldemort was supposed to be dead, and wasn't, and that had to play havoc with the Time-threads under any circumstances, but with the addition of a Time Lord – no wonder Time was confused.

"Barty, how _nice_ of you to join us," the not-man purred. "The only one still missing is Pius, who has already given us his excuses."

He was getting really tired of that name. "Hello!" He waved. "You must be Voldemort," he said, ignoring the pain.

Not everyone was so successful; he could see a number of men around the circle wince and clutch their left arms. Voldemort took a step backwards. "Who are you? You are an imposter! Who _are_ you?"

The Doctor beamed at him. "I'm the Doctor, I already told you that."

"Don't! Play games! With me!"

_Well, this one takes Punctuated! For! Emphasis! up to a whole new level, doesn't he? This could be fun. So long as I don't die, of course, but I could probably push him quite a bit more before he actually explodes._

Still grinning broadly, the Doctor ran a hand through his hair. "I wasn't. Playing games with you, that is. So – Voldemort." He pronounced the name with its proper French accent, rather than the moronic British one. "Why are you so obsessed with me?"

He could tell by the way wrinkles formed on the pale face that Voldemort was frowning. "I do not answer such insolent questions from _my_ Death Eaters."

The Doctor rolled his eyes. "Let's establish something now, shall we? I am _not_ one of your _anything_. I am not, have never been, and never will be a Death Eater – really, that's rather a stupid name. People who eat _death?_ Honestly, what does that even mean? And come _on_ – Voldemort? Flight of death? Flight from death? Who's doing the fleeing, you or death? And, ah, what _is_ this preoccupation with death anyway? Bit morbid, innit? I mean, _really_. You're a super-secret terrorist organization trying to bring down the current government by way of mass murders and genocide, and you stop to have a conflab on how scary _death_ is?" He stopped suddenly. "I'm surprised you let me get that far. People usually stop me before that."

Voldemort looked shocked. The rest of the circle was dead silent. After a long pause, Voldemort raised his wand. "_Crucio!_"

_Honestly. What does he think I am? Well, human, obviously._

It was laughably easy to avoid the burst of light. "Come _on_. That's not even really light – well, it kind of is. What you've got there is a bunch of radiation transponders, sending focused streams of energy at a target. What they do when they _reach_ the target is a bit harder to pin down, but given that your radiation energy travels, ooh, about 128 kilometres per hour, which is, ah, about the speed of a competitive bowler, it's really not that hard to avoid."

The graveyard was as silent as – well, the grave. The Doctor turned to tell this to his companion.

_Ah. Right. Forgot about that._

This time Voldemort didn't bother with an incantation, instead twitching his wand and releasing a different coloured ray of light. It was just as easy to avoid.

"Oh, come off it! That was a bit faster, I guess, round about 129, 131, but _honestly._ Even a human could have dodged that."

_That_ got Voldemort's attention. "You – When were you bitten?"

Okay, that made no sense at all. "Bitten?" He ran through the memories again. "_Oh_, you mean by a werewolf. Or a vampire, I guess, but that doesn't happen as often. Ah, no. Sorry. No such luck. Or misfortune, probably. I don't go all furry when the moon is out." Speaking of which – he glanced at the sky rapidly.

_Sunset in thirty two minutes. Moon-set in thirty-one. New moon was last night. Good to know._

Scowling, Voldemort walked towards him, black robes billowing in a non-existent wind. "You are the _oddest_ Death Eater."

"Good," the Doctor said, grinning.

Voldemort hissed at him, displaying a forked tongue. "What happened in Azkaban?"

The Doctor laughed. "I don't know. Why don't you tell _me_, since you seem to know almost everything?"

"I am the Dark Lord. You _will_ answer my questions."

Raising one eyebrow, the Doctor smirked. "Does that tone of voice usually work?"

Voldemort prodded his wand into the Doctor's chest. "What _are_ you?"

"Oh, you should have just started with that question," the Doctor drawled. "I'm a Time Lord. What are you? I haven't seen _anyone_ like you before. Well, there was that threesome on Arcturus Five that had – you don't care about that. So – are you an alien as well?"

Voldemort gaped at this; the Doctor hadn't made any effort to slow down his words, so he supposed that the man-snake-thing hadn't quite kept up. "What iss a Time Lord?"

"You didn't hiss your sibilants before," the Doctor pointed out. "And me. I'm a Time Lord."

Beginning to circle him, Voldemort lowered his wand. "You are a very persseptive man."

The Doctor turned to face him. "I've been called that, yes." In less than ten seconds the entire tenor of their conversation had changed. He wasn't joking anymore, finding far more interest in exploring the psyche of the man in front of him.

"Explain what a Time Lord iss."

Finding the constant circling annoying, the Doctor began a circle of his own. "Why? Give me a good reason to tell you _anything_ about me."

Voldemort drew himself upright. "I could kill you now."

"You could try," the Doctor said with a grin. "Lots of people have tried. Some of them even succeeded." The pacing continued. "Never quite seemed to stick," he added dryly.

* * *

**A/N: Before anyone asks, I've decided that Time Lords have two complete circulatory systems to go with those two hearts. (More on this later) These would be the sinstracirculatory system (left heart) and the dextracirculatory system (right heart).**


	12. The Mark of the Snake, III

**************Doctor Who, Special Series; Episode 3: The Mark of the Snake**  


**A/N: Ooh, look! Backstory!**

**Thanks to everyone who reviewed, favourited, and alerted. Yes, in that order. I love you more if you sent me a message than if you just ticked some boxes. Of course, ticking boxes is better than doing nothing, so…**

**Sonic Screwdriver Setting 42: This and the succeeding seven chapters were all written in October, along with all of the author's notes. It's NaNoSeason, everyone! I won't be able to reply to reviews or PMs until December, nor will the author's notes be adjusted to fit reader reactions. Pretty much I'm just uploading the file, inserting scene breaks, and saving. Sorry about that. *grins***

* * *

Like nothing else he'd said, this caught Voldemort's attention. "How? Why? What did you do?"

The Doctor laughed. "I am a Time Lord."

"How do you become a Time Lord?" Voldemort asked urgently.

Frowning, the Doctor stopped. "You don't get it, do you? You don't _become_ a Time Lord. It's not a _job_. We're a _species_. Or we were. Now – ah – I guess we're what's left of a species. Which would be not much."

Voldemort trembled with rage. "You are immortal. Make me immortal!"

"It doesn't work like that. I can't just _make_ you immortal! Hell, _I'm_ not immortal. I just don't die when you kill me."

_Thirteen lives. Three more after this. I'm running out of time. How long do I want to live? How long do I _need_ to live?_

It was Voldemort's turn to halt and frown. "You don't die when you are killed," he said slowly. "Let'ss tesst that, sshall we?" His wand flicked up again.

"Ah – let's not," the Doctor said, holding up his hands and backing away. It was growing dark and he had to allocate more effort than he really wanted to not tripping over gravestones. "The process is a bit explosive. Some other people might die. Or – you know – you."

If there had been colour in Voldemort's face, it would have drained ."Ah." He paced restlessly in a circle, although – to the Doctor's great delight – not around anyone. "Will you bow to me?"

The Doctor laughed. "Did you miss something? The answer is no, and always will be. I won't join you, I won't help you take over the world, I won't teach you how to be immortal. If you're lucky, I'll finish my business here and leave, without mucking about too much in your plans. See –" He started pacing, looking around the circle of Death Eaters. "I don't like your plans. Not at all. And when I don't like plans, the end result is the destruction of – ah – well, things. Usually the people making the plans I didn't like. But I'm busy, and I'm willing to give you this one chance! _One!_ Leave me and mine be, and you will live."

Voldemort looked at him. "You would make a good Death Eater."

"Shut up," the Doctor said far too fast to be able to pretend that hadn't hit a nerve. "Just – shut up. One chance, remember?"

Voldemort scoffed, tucking his wand into his robes. "I have seen no evidence of that."

Truthfully, he had forgotten that he wasn't known in this world. Rather than admitting that, though, he shifted the discussion. "I need to Apparate to Devonshire."

"Why sshould I agree?"

The Doctor stared at him. "You know, that sibilant thing is really annoying."

Voldemort began pacing again. "What iss in Devonshire that you want?"

The Doctor shook his head, wrinkling up his nose. "Oh, you know," he threw in an airy hand wave for good measure, "nothing. Nothing really."

"If you tell me, I will ssend ssomeone to take you," Voldemort said, with the air of someone offering a larger than normal bribe.

Raising an eyebrow, the Doctor spun to face him. "And then you will know precisely where I am going and to who. How stupid do you think I am?"

Voldemort gave him a steady glare. "How elsse were you planning to get there?"

Shrugging again, the Doctor continued his pacing. "Oh, I thought I'd just, I dunno, take someone's wand."

The Death Eaters, formerly silent, snickered at this.

"Were you volunteering?" the Doctor asked politely, turning to one of them. "It really would be so much easier to have a volunteer."

The man in front of him backed up a step. "N-no. No, sir."

He rolled his eyes. "_Please_ don't salute." The Doctor returned his attention to Voldemort. "Here's the thing," he said, jamming his hands in his pant pockets, "I _am_ leaving. You can't stop me. The only question at this point is whether we have a big fight first. Personally, I'd rather avoid that nonsense, but it's your choice."

Voldemort gave him a cool stare. "You have my Mark on your arm. Whether you remember it or not, you did receive my Mark. Twice, as I recall. Care to explain?"

"Haven't got a clue," the Doctor said, intrigued. "So what you're telling me is that you Marked my body, and then later you Marked it again. Why? Why would you do that?"

The graveyard was silent for a moment. "When I last saw you," Voldemort said, clipping the ends of his words, "you acted very different."

The Doctor nodded. "Yes. I – I disguised myself, to hide from a personal enemy. The – ah – process involved removed my memory. When I restored myself, for some reason the memories of that time failed to return."

"You are missing all memories from a period of time during which you were missing all of your memories," Voldemort summarized.

Shrugging, the Doctor ran a hand through his hair. "Yeah, that's about it. So one of the time you Marked me must have been during that period. But what about the other?"

Voldemort gave him a steady look. "I first Marked Barty Crouch in 1980. I Marked him a second time when he returned to me last summer, July of 1994. The first Mark was gone when he returned; he claimed that the actions of the Aurors had removed it."

"And then he spent a year masquerading as a teacher at Hogwarts before bringing you back. And that's the bit I don't remember." He groaned and ran a hand through his hair again. He liked this regeneration's hair, there was enough of it to fiddle with but not enough to get in the way. "I have all my memories from – from – from before, and then the last thing I remember is bars – like a prison – and – ah – after that, well, waking up with Aurors standing over me in the halls of Hogwarts." Yes he was editing, and leaving things out all over the place, but he couldn't tell _Voldemort_ some of those things, the whole world would bounce merrily off to hell.

"So," the Doctor continued, rubbing his hands together. "The person I replaced – the original Barty, let's call him – was the first one you Marked. And then I replaced him – I won't tell you how, so don't bother asking me – in prison, and things happened, and I – ah, well, my body – was the second one you Marked. 'Course, I haven't a clue where the original Barty wandered off to, but if you're looking for a Death Eater, he'd be the one."

Voldemort nodded slowly. "You are not mine, then."

"Nope!" The Doctor beamed at him.

A smile spread over Voldemort's damaged face. "Given that you are not mine, why should I let you go?"

The Doctor tilted his head to the side. "Other than that you have no way of stopping me, yeah, you really haven't got a reason." Sometimes he wished he was better at lying. Others he thought he was too good.

"Wouldn't it be ssafer for me to have you killed now?"

The Doctor snickered. "First, your sibilants are back. And second, I thought we'd already had this conversation. You're not going to be able to kill me, and I wouldn't recommend trying."

Voldemort ignored him, apparently reaching some conclusion of his own. "I will make a deal with you: if you will complete a task for me, you may go."

"Depends on the task," the Doctor replied instantly.

Scanning him, Voldemort smiled again. "I do not think you will find it very difficult. Lucius!"

A man stepped forward, on the opposite side of the circle from the Doctor. He wasn't sure, but he didn't think it was the one who had brought him there. "Yes, my Lord?"

"Fetch one of the Muggles for a demonstration," Voldemort said coolly.

_Muggle, muggle, muggle… Human. Not magical. Considered worthless by those with magic. Well, let's show them, then, shall we?_

The Doctor raised his chin, half of a smirk on his face. He had a suspicion about where this was going, which made it easy to plan against.

The Death Eater – Lucius, apparently – bowed. "Yes, my Lord." He drew a wand of his own, giving it a slight flick.

From outside the circle – from the motionless kneeling group that the Doctor was ashamed to admit he had forgotten about – a body was summoned, and the Doctor saw why they had been motionless. There were invisible bindings pressing into his flesh, pinning his arms behind his back and his legs into a bent shape. The man was dumped unceremoniously on the ground, laying on one arm in a way that had to be painful.

Swearing quietly in various dead languages, the Doctor knelt next to the other man, helping him upright again, looking into his wild, panicked eyes, the only mobile part of him. Struggling to control his anger, the Doctor leaped up again, glaring at Voldemort. "Let him go. Let all of them go _now_."

Voldemort smiled cruelly. "Luciuss, I need your wand." Grabbing the proffered stick, he spun to hand it to the Doctor. "Kill the Muggle and you can leave."

"What?" Lucius burst out. "My wand? This stranger to take my wand?"

Voldemort levelled a steady glare at the man.

Lucius paled and took a step backwards. "My apologies, my Lord. It will not happen again."

Somehow the Doctor seriously doubted that, but he kept that thought to himself, for once. This was already complicated enough, given the man on the ground in front of him. Instead, he changed the topic. Anger wasn't going to help, at least not _his_, but if he could upset Voldemort enough, they might end up getting somewhere. "Wait a minute. I – really, just hold on here," he said, refusing to take the wand. "I haven't a clue how to use that. Not to mention that even if I did, I wouldn't. Not my style, normally. Bit too much like a gun for my taste."

Voldemort ignored this. "Kill him, Doctor, or I will." He lifted both wands.

The Doctor noted that it was the first time his name had been used. Gingerly, he reached out and took Lucius' wand, plans forming and reforming in his head. "I still don't know the spell." This wasn't precisely true – the Corsair had put in all his memories form Hogwarts – but he saw no reason to tell Voldemort that.

The wand felt odd in his hands, almost sentient. It was the same shape, more or less, as his sonic screwdriver, but felt irredeemably hostile. The Doctor shot a glance at Lucius. What had his body done to make the other man hate him that much? Or maybe it was just in response to being forced to hand over his wand. The Corsair had memories about that too.

Voldemort gave him a disbelieving look. "The incantation is Avada Kedavra."

Holding the wand loosely in his hand, the Doctor spun to look at the other man. "Don't worry. I've got a plan." Raising the wand, he sorted through the memories, hoping against hope that he had magic and it wasn't just some fluke of the Corsair's, or else this all was going to go downhill _really_ fast. "_Finite Incantatum._"

He could feel Time wrapping around him, feeding energy into his mind, focusing it, spiralling it through his wand, and exploding out into the world. It felt a little like flying the TARDIS, a little like Apparation, and a lot like manipulating history.

_Oh thank Gallifrey that worked._

The man collapsed forward, catching himself on his arms with a grunt. "Thank you, sir."

He'd heard voices like that before, others with that cadence and rhythm. With that thought in mind, the Doctor bent down. "Hello, soldier. Name and rank, please."

That got through to the man, which was fortunate, because he didn't really have a backup plan. Jumping to his feet, the man saluted smartly. "Corporal Jenson Murray, with the 1st Battalion, Fourth Armoured Brigade, sir!"

"Good to meet you, Jenson," the Doctor said, standing up again. "I'm the Doctor. Ah - no military rank, I'm afraid. Just – stay there for now." Turning to Voldemort, he smiled tightly. "The answer is no. No, I will not kill a man for you. No, I will not allow you to blackmail me into doing anything. No, I will not inadvertently aid you by committing the crime I am wanted for."

Voldemort hissed. "Have you thought about what you are doing?"

The Doctor grinned. "Yep!" Raising his wand again, he yelled, "_Finite Incantatum!_" He wasn't entirely sure what he was doing, but he sincerely hoped it worked.

This time the rush of energy was greater, and he gasped in a breath as it roared through him. Turning to look at the other group, the non-Death Eaters, he smiled in relief. The group was moving now, just a conglomeration of black shapes starting to pick themselves up off the ground.

"You _dare_," Voldemort spat.

"Listen to me," the Doctor said quietly, "I am not someone you want as an enemy. I have given you _more_ than enough chances. We are done. I am leaving now, I am taking these people with me, and I am _not_ coming back. Is this clear?"

Voldemort fumed, searching for and not finding words.

"Right then," a new voice said. "I think that's more than enough talk, don't you?"

That accent. He knew that accent. Why did he know that – "What are _you_ doing here?"

The new man snorted, shoving Death Eaters out of his way as he strode into the circle. "Same as you. Screwed some things up, ended up here." With that said, he reached into his navy blue greatcoat and pulled out a gun, pointing it unerringly at Voldemort.

* * *

**This _is_ someone you know; if you figure it out, PM, don't review please! Let's try to keep the number of spoilers in the reviews down.**


	13. The Mark of the Snake, IV

**************Doctor Who, Special Series; Episode 3: The Mark of the Snake**  


**A/N: Ah, I like cliffies? *hides***

**Thanks to everyone who reviewed, favourited, and alerted last chapter. Keep it up!**

**Sonic Screwdriver Setting 42: Any thoughts on the 12****th**** Doctor? Personally, I'm rooting for Benedict Cumberbatch, but anyone else got a vote?**

* * *

The Doctor blinked. "Always with the gun thing! Why guns?"

The other rolled his eyes. "Let it go, Doctor. I'm a bit busy now."

"You! Muggle!" Voldemort screeched. "How dare you!"

Holding the gun in one hand, the other moved over to the Doctor, pulling him close, facing out. "Oh, just shut up, snake-face. This is a gun," he said with an unbearably patronizing manner.

The Doctor jabbed him in the ribs. He could feel the other flinch and then chuckle behind him.

Taking a deep breath, the other controlled himself. "And I'm the one pointing it at you. So unless you want to die again, I'd suggest that you stand your men down."

Voldemort's eyes flickered between the Doctor and the other man, finally lowering his wand. "Who are you?"

The Doctor didn't need to turn around to know the other was grinning broadly. "I'm Captain Jack Harkness. And _hello_, snake-face."

"Oh, don't even start," the Doctor moaned.

Jack laughed again. "Don't worry, Doctor, he's not my type."

"I wasn't aware you had a type."

Still laughing quietly – the vibrations went through his chest – Jack propped his gun arm on the Doctor's shoulder. "I do now. He's not it."

Voldemort apparently wasn't used to being ignored. Fuming, he strode forward to stand a few steps away from the Doctor. "What iss going on?"

"I'm Captain Jack Harkness," Jack began.

The Doctor elbowed him again. "You already said that."

Ignoring the interruption, Jack said, "Formerly of the Time Agency, formerly of the Torchwood Institute, formerly of UNIT –"

"Really?" The Doctor perked up. "When?"

Continuing to ignore the Doctor – something he found very annoying – Jack coughed. "Currently of no one in particular, but I'm still up-to-date on the legalities."

"I never bothered with those," the Doctor pointed out.

Jack snorted. "Yeah, but you're _you_."

"Course I am. Who else would I be? You?" the Doctor asked in some confusion. "Don't answer that," he added quickly.

This time the laughter was audible as well as tangible. "Right – Voldemort. You are hereby charged with being an ugly disgrace to the name of humanity and sentenced to execution. Sentence to be carried out immediately."

"Jack! You – you can't – that's not something you can _kill_ someone for!" The Doctor jerked away from Jack and spun to face him.

Snorting again, Jack aimed his gun at Voldemort. "Fine then. Also for murder, genocide, arson, treason against Her Majesty's Government – ah – theft, rape, kidnapping, and violation of public property."

The Doctor frowned. "All that? How'd you know?"

Jack shrugged eloquently, his gun never moving. "I guessed. Was I right?"

"Mostly. Not sure where you pulled violation of public property from."

Cocking the gun, Jack settled down. "Getting back on topic, you have been sentenced to death and found guilty of a lot of things I don't feel like going through again. Time to die, Voldemort." His finger tightened on the trigger.

"_No_!" The Doctor lunged forward, shoving the gun up.

He was far too close to the gun – the bang deafened him, and sparks sizzled across his fingers. That didn't matter. What mattered was that the shot spun harmlessly off into the night. And his fingers hurt. A lot. Actually, he wasn't entirely sure that the second part wasn't more important than the first. Because – _ow_. They had been right near the muzzle, and he thought he might have lost some skin – and oh dear Gallifrey if he was bleeding _here_ – it was alright in the prison because his enemies would have made sure it was cleaned up and disposed of, but _here_, here with wizards and werewolves and things that go bump in the night, here where there really was blood magic and he didn't know enough, here where there were one too many things from the other universe and just enough of them knew what he was…

_You're panicking again,_ the calm voice pointed out. _And if you actually looked at the fingers in question, you would see that they're barely singed._

This was true, he noted as he brought his right hand up to his face. _Blimey_ but he seemed to be injuring his hands a lot. Just scorched on the fingertips, nothing to worry about.

It took him forever to drag his attention back to Voldemort, but he didn't seem to have missed much. The Dark Lord in question pulled himself upright, straightening his robes. "I do not care who killss them," he said quietly, voice trembling slightly. "But ssomeone do it _now_!"

"Sir?"

How had he forgotten about Corporal Jenson? Fortunately the man seemed to have taken him at his word and hadn't moved. The Doctor spun. "Ah – yes. Corporal Jenson Murray, meet Captain Jack Harkness. _Don't_ start."

Jack made a face at him, tucking the gun back inside his coat. Turning to Jenson, he saluted crisply. "A pleasure to meet you Corporal."

Snapping to attention, Jenson saluted back. "Sir!"

"Right. Now what?" The Doctor looked around.

The Death Eaters had drawn their wands, but none of them moved. Meanwhile, the former-captives for the most part hadn't budged, evidently judging that it was safer to stay put than risk becoming a target.

The Doctor looked at Jack, coughing slightly. "Got any more great plans?"

"I've got five more bullets," Jack said brightly. "Could try again."

"You've got your sources wrong if you think that's gonna work," the Doctor pointed out.

Jack scoffed. "And how would you know?"

Smirking, the Doctor tapped his head. "Time Lord."

"Oh, piss off. You've got a wand, you do something," Jack snapped, spinning to keep an eye on the circle.

The Doctor ignored him. "Now what – I don't know – too many spells in my head!" He twisted the wand absentmindedly in his hands. How was he supposed to pick which one when they were all whirring around in his head? Do this and turn a tortoise into a teapot, do that and light things on fire. Not to mention that he wasn't even sure if the magic would work for him reliably. Sure, it had for the Corsair, but that could be different, and now would be a really bad time for it not to work, and – he was not panicking again. No. He – no. Being the Doctor meant that he didn't get to panic like everyone else. It was just too much, being in a new universe with new rules and magic, and seeing the Corsair again, and Jack, and his enemy-who-he-was-not-going-to-think-about, and fifty nine other problems for him to keep track of, and on top of it all, everyone wanted him dead.

"Sir? Sirs? Why haven't – they aren't firing?"

Oh dear Gallifrey, not only had he gone and forgotten Jenson – again – but he hadn't realized how horribly, heartbreakingly _young_ he was. The Doctor froze, trying to figure out why he was so _scattered_.

Jack shot him a glare. "They're worried about my gun," he told Jenson. "These lot don't have guns, they just have the pointy sticks –"

"Wands." The Doctor ran a hand through his hair, shoving the aforementioned item in his jacket pocket.

The glare would have killed him if human eyes worked like that. "And they don't know what to do with my gun," Jack finished smoothly. "So they're just hanging about, looking threatening, waiting for someone else to go first. Won't last long, maybe another minute or so, but if the Doctor could get his act together…" He turned to the Doctor with a stern look.

He was dithering. Why was he dithering? He didn't dither, this was odd, this was wrong, there were too many wrong things around him, Voldemort and Jack and the magic-not-science this world seemed to use and the Corsair and the questions he wouldn't answer…

Out of the corner of his eye, someone moved.

"Get down!" The words burst out of him, completely unintentional, which didn't stop them from being absolutely necessary. He collapsed, boneless, to the ground with a louder thud than he really thought needed and a new dull pain in one thigh from an inconveniently placed rock. A snap came from beneath him, he supposed from some twig now trapped between his chest and the earth. He could see from his position on the ground Jack's confused stare. "Jack! Down!"

It wasn't until Jack took in a sharp breath that he remembered the difference in reaction times between him and humans, and by that point it was too late.

Jack, in the fastest bit of thinking he'd seen out of the immortal, threw himself at Jenson, knocking the soldier out of the way. The sickly green bolt of light hit Jack. Jenson fell to the ground with a loud _crack_.

For a second, for a millisecond, it didn't matter how long it was, what mattered was that for even the slightest instant, Jack was dead. Dead and gone, not in his perception, not in Time. Dead. And he forgot, it was driven out of his mind by the sight of Jack's dead body, that in the next second Jack was going to take one of those horrible shattering breaths that meant he had been somewhere – _again _ – that no human was ever meant to go and come back from.

His brain reconnected. The Doctor tore his eyes away from Jack and, keeping himself low to the ground, crawled over to Jenson. "No – don't sit up. Just stay put. What hurts?" He kept half an eye on the circle of men – they were watching him and Jenson, and Jack's dead body, gloating in how easy it had been to take Jack down – fools, if they only knew – but most of his attention was focused on Jenson, the youngest, the weakest, the only vulnerable one here.

Jenson moaned quietly in pain. "M' shoulder, sir. F-f-feels – it feels broke."

If that was true, they suddenly had a lot more complicated problems to deal with. But – gentle fingers reached out and danced lightly over Jenson's shoulder. "Not broken, just dislocated. We can pop it back in in a minute, alright? Just stay there for me, okay? I've got to deal with Jack."

Jenson nodded shakily, rolling onto his back and holding his shoulder in place.

By the time he turned around, Jack had moved past the first terrifying breath and was panting quietly on the ground. "Ready when you are, Doctor." The words were quiet, spoken only for the Doctor's ears, which was good.

"They're moving again," the Doctor replied.

The circle of men was closing in on them, like a pack of dogs on a wounded deer. Too bad for the dogs that they'd gotten a Time Lord instead of a deer – except that rather abruptly dragged the metaphor out of the realm of imagery and into reality, which kind of defeated the whole point.

A thousand different plans ran through the Doctor's mind. "On my word – I need your hands. A wand – I can Apparate us out. To somewhere safe."

"W-what about the others?" Jenson asked. "Sir," he added, somewhat belatedly.

_Something's wrong with me. Why do I keep forgetting things?_

The Doctor froze, eyes flickering. Three lives versus – what were there? – fifteen. His life against others, again and again. "If we go," he started, looking at Jenson.

Jenson gulped. "The – the man who – who – he said we – we're gonna die. Fer – fer – fer bein' mmm-muddled, or sommat like that."

_Not muddled. Muggles._

That – that made things that much simpler and that much more complex. But he knew what the stakes were, which helped, in an odd way. "Scrap that plan then. I'm – ah – we're not letting more –" He stopped there. Some regenerations were good at the whole inspirational speech thing. This one just kept getting distracted halfway through. Casting one last glance at Jack, he stood up, raising his hands in the air. "Ah – could we talk about this for a minute?"

Behind him, Jack snorted in disbelief. "Only you," he muttered.

Ignoring this, the Doctor walked towards Voldemort, hands still held up. "I've got things you want, you've got things I want, I'm sure we can work something out."

Voldemort stared at him, doing a brilliant impression of a drunken horse – which, incidentally, was a problem the Doctor never wanted to deal with again. But that was a different story. "What could you posssibly have to offer _me_?"

"My life," the Doctor said instantly. "My life for all the Muggles. I want their safe passage back to Euston Station and then for you to leave them alone for the rest of their lives."

Jack bolted to his feet. "_No!_" He drew the gun again, pointing it at Voldemort – as if that would work, even if he did hit. "Doctor – no! You can't sacrifice yourself, there's too much – he's back!"

The Doctor didn't turn to look, locking eyes with Voldemort instead. "It's someone else's turn, Jack. Would you rather I watched all those people die?"

Jack made a disgruntled noise from behind him, but his attention was back on Voldemort. The not-man was staring him down – to no great success, as the Doctor was just beaming at him unblinkingly. "You would exchange your life for a bunch of worthlesss Muggless?"

The Doctor rocked back on his heels. "Yep! Deal?"

"Why?" Voldemort asked in some confusion.

Shoving his hands in his pockets, the Doctor broke eye contact suddenly – he hadn't actually _lost_, because Voldemort had blinked before he did – looking down. "Because my life is not worth all of theirs."

Voldemort pondered this for a while – 904 milliseconds. "No," he said finally. "There must be a trick here."

That was _not_ the expected answer. The Doctor wasted 32 milliseconds by gaping at Voldemort. "You – no, now hold on a sec. There are, oh, I dunno," he tried to count on his fingers and gave up rapidly, "a bunch of species who would give _everything_ to see me dead, and you're letting me go because you're worried about a _trick_?" His voice escalated throughout this and ended with a horribly undignified squawk.

Jack snorted, holding in his amusement. "That does seem to be how you work, Doctor."

Voldemort ignored this. "I did not say that," he said quietly, threats edging his voice. "I never said I was letting you go."

The Doctor blinked. "No, no, you didn't, did you? You said you wouldn't agree to my deal – why? Because you have a better plan. What better plan? Kill me, and then kill the prisoners. You'll have to do it in that order, because it's never gonna happen if you start killing them first." He began pacing, brain furiously turning possibilities over.

"You will die last, for that," Voldemort said, with a furious intensity that made the Doctor stop.

He spun, frowning at the not-man. "No. What? No. That's stupid. Why would you do that? That's just – no." He paused, running a hand through his hair. "No, no, no, you can't be that – yes you can. Honestly? You want to devastate me first, hurt me, make me suffer, because you think – really, you honestly think that you're powerful enough to hold me. Which really, is really stupid, honestly, because you don't know anything about me, which means you've got nothing to go on when you're judging how powerful I am. And that's a bit unfortunate, really, because I'm afraid you've severely underestimated how dangerous I am."

Voldemort drew his wand. "_Avada Kedavra._"


	14. The Mark of the Snake, V

**************Doctor Who, Special Series; Episode 3: The Mark of the Snake**  


**A/N: Some plot, some backstory, and a happy Doctor… eventually. Also a really long chapter to make up for the major cliffie. (This is a blatant lie. It was just a really long chapter. Timing worked well though.) Also, next chapter doesn't go up until next Saturday!**

**Thanks again to everyone who reviewed, favourited, and alerted. 100th reviewer will get a one-shot as a prize!**

**Sonic Screwdriver Setting 42: I would tell you that NaNoWriMo is going well, but I'm actually writing this on October 22****nd****, so I haven't got a clue.**

* * *

A sickly bolt of green light flew out of his wand and struck Jenson in the chest. It was so _fast_, it took a millisecond or less for Jenson to seize and fall to the ground, dead. Like Jack. But unlike Jack, Jenson would never take another breath, never give the Doctor another salute, never return to his unit or his family. Dead.

_Nine._

Jack hissed from behind him. "This won't work on snake face, right? But does anyone else have that problem?"

The Doctor met Voldemort's red eyes steadily. "No." He actually wasn't sure, the memories were contradictory, but if someone had survived a spell meant specifically to kill, he didn't think a gun would be any help at that point.

"Good."

Without looking at Jack, the Doctor knew what he was doing, and he didn't care. The click of the gun cocking echoed in the graveyard. He expected the _bang_ that followed, expected the collapse of one of the black-robed men, expected the yell of pain and fear, expected the thud as the body fell to the ground, dead.

_Ten._

Click. Bang.

_Eleven._

"Save the rest, Jack," the Doctor said coldly. "You'll need them to get out." Damnit, he'd _liked_ Jenson.

Jack scoffed. "You got a plan, Doctor?"

The Doctor continued watching Voldemort. The two men were motionless, eyes locked. "Not yet. There will be one, just as – ah – just as soon as I come up with it."

Voldemort snarled. "Kill them! They murdered Rabastan and Amycus! Kill them now!"

"Right – plan." The Doctor ran a hand through his hair. "Jack – protect the prisoners. I know that it – just please?" It tore at him, what he was asking Jack to do.

Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Jack nod as the graveyard was lit up by green flashes. Fortunately the Death Eaters were remarkably bad shots – or none of them wanted to see what would happen if they hit Jack again. "Whatever you say, Doctor. Get out anyone you can. There are kids."

The Doctor froze, blood draining from his face. "Right. I – I can – thingy." He waved a hand around, looking for the right word. "Apparate. I can Apparate everyone out. One – well, two – at a time. You'll have to protect them until then."

"Can do," Jack said instantly. "I've got three shots left, though."

He snarled, running a hand through his hair. "Take a wand, then. I've got to – oh, no, no, no, no, _no!_"

The Death Eaters had gotten clever. Rather than aiming at the Doctor and Jack, they'd switched to the other prisoners, taking one down after another with bolts of light.

_Twelve. Thirteen. Fourteen. Fifteen. Fifteen dead due to me._

Beckoning to Jack, the Doctor took off running towards the prisoners. He had to free them, had to get them out of this mess, this unholy mess he had gotten them involved in. He was always getting people involved in his own catastrophes, always ruining their lives to save others. And it didn't always work. He had to save these ones to make up for all the ones he couldn't. Had to save _someone_, because if he couldn't, what was he good for?

His shoulder hit a Death Eater just below the taller man's ribcage, knocking him out of the way. Bursting out of the circle, the Doctor skidded to a halt in front of the group of prisoners. They were huddled on the ground, clustering together in the vain hope that that would help. Too in shock to scream, there were still some who were crying silently.

"Alright everyone, I'm getting you all out of here." The Doctor scanned the group. "I can take two at a time, starting with children." He ignored the _click bang_ from behind him.

Immediately the group broke, people lunging towards him. "Take me." "Me first!" "Sir, please!" "Help us!"

Memories, good and bad, attacked him. That time on Midnight – scared, frightened people, so willing to kill him if they thought it would save themselves. But then there was San Helios, and so many others…

Shuddering, the Doctor took a step backwards. "Two, and two of the children!" He ducked a jet of light.

_Sixteen._

"_Now!_" Every second he was here was another second he could be saving someone. He had to get someone out, had to save someone, had to do something so that he wasn't just killing again.

A boy – oh, TARDIS help him, he couldn't be more than ten – stumbled forward, a bolt just missing him. The Doctor grabbed his shoulder, reaching out to hold onto another child, a girl about seven. "I swear – I _swear_ I'll be back. I won't let you die here." Releasing the boy, he scrabbled for the wand in his pockets, coming out with two broken useless pieces. "I – I –" He must have broken it in the earlier fall. Could he Apparate two children without a wand? The familiar flinty resolve swept over him. He would have to. There wasn't another option.

Dropping the pieces, he grabbed the boy's hand. "Don't let go, either of you." He planted a foot and spun on the spot, just as three jets of light sped towards them.

Rushed and panicked, he pulled at Time, trying to communicate.

_This man. I want to go to this man. Tall and ginger and balding and skinny. A father, probably a government worker, poor._

Time rumbled around him, eager to please. It took more out of him than usual, though. Probably because of the lack of a wand, and the three bodies he was trying to get Time to accept. It burned and tore at him, feeding off the artron energy he bled.

Finally, _finally_ it dropped him in a yard with one ramshackle house at the end. Collapsing spent to the ground, he panted. Why was he so tired, scattered, uncertain? What was wrong with him?

As his senses settled, he became aware of bodies on either side of him. One was breathing, short rasping breaths that sounded painful. The other… wasn't.

Shocked, he jumped to his knees. The boy – the beautiful, beautiful boy – wasn't moving. Wasn't alive. Brown hair flopped into lifeless blue eyes.

_Seventeen._

The pain tore at him, leaving gaping wounds in his soul. He couldn't have gotten them out, just for one to be stolen from life by a bolt of deadly light. Choking back something that was almost a sob, he turned to the other, the girl, in the hopes that she could give him the hope that the boy hadn't.

What met his eyes was almost worse. Something had gone wrong in the Apparation. A chunk of her had been left behind, abandoned without a body. Half of her chest. A lung. Part of her heart.

"Oh, no, no, no, no." This wasn't possible, he couldn't lose her too. Reaching down to her, he gently brushed sweaty black hair out of her face. "Hush now. I won't let anything happen to you. Look at me, come on please, just look at me!"

The girl moaned quietly, blood pouring out of her side. A red puddle formed on the ground, glistening blackly in the darkness. Her eyes flickered open and shut almost as fast. "Daddy? Daddy, my head hurts."

He swallowed hard to get the lump out of his throat. Evidently the magic of Apparation had blocked off some of the pain, but she wouldn't survive much longer. Not with her heart damaged. "Shush. I'm sorry. I'm so, _so_ sorry."

She choked out a sob, a heart-wrenching wail. "_Daddy!_ I want my daddy!"

"I know, I know, he's not here, I'm sorry. I'm the Doctor. What's your name?" Distract, avoid, lie, anything to keep her mind off of what was happening to her body.

Sniffling, she opened her eyes again. Brown. Brown eyes to go with black hair. "Margaret. Margaret Jones."

He ran a hand through her hair gently, avoiding even looking at the wound. "Well, Margaret Jones, I have a friend named Jones too. Her name's Martha Jones. That's awful close to Margaret."

"Doctor? Doctor – am – am I – d-d-dying?" Her voice cracked and stumbled over the last word.

He had to blink tears out of his eyes first. "Yes, Margaret. I'm so sorry. There's nothing I can do."

She sniffed again, shuddering. "B-b-but you tried. N-not everyone tries. Daddy says that counts, right?"

"Yes, yes Margaret, that counts," he told her quietly. "I'm trying as best I can, and I'm sorry. You weren't supposed to be there tonight."

There was a long pause as she drew in gasping, raspy breaths. "D-doctor?"

He bit on the inside of his lip to divert the pain. "Yes, Margaret?"

"Keep trying. P-please? For me?"

His hearts felt like they were breaking. This couldn't be happening, not to this little girl. It wasn't fair! "Of course. Always, Margaret. For you, I will always try."

She breathed out one last time. And never in again.

_Eighteen._

Gently, tenderly, he closed her eyes. "For you, Margaret Jones, I will do anything. Because you were not supposed to die tonight. You were supposed to have a long and happy life, with a doctorate, and research papers, and five different dogs. You studied molecular engineering and helped discover the shape of proteins in haemoglobin. You married a wonderful, wonderful man, and had two children with him. You made the world a happier, better place just by being there. You were completely ordinary, and so very, _very _special. You weren't supposed to die here." He could see it, see the thread of her life, now cut short and dangling. Soon it would vanish, reabsorbed back into Time, but for a spilt second, he could see where it would have gone.

* * *

Molly couldn't sleep. What with the return of You-Know-Who, and the absence of her children, she was too wound up to sleep. Arthur wasn't sleeping either, but he preferred to lie in their bed and stare at the ceiling. She, meanwhile, sat in the living room and knitted jumpers.

Which was why, when a _crack_ split the air, she was awake and ready to fight. "Who's there? I-I'm armed!" She wasn't trained to fight, but if someone was trying to kill her family, she would make the effort regardless.

No response from outside.

"Arthur?" she called. "We've got a problem."

There was a loud groan from upstairs. "Coming, dear."

Knitting discarded on the floor, wand out, she made her way to the door. Opening it slowly, she looked out over the yard.

A man knelt on the ground, two children lying flat next to him. She almost burst out, almost went to pull him off of them, but she waited. Because he was talking, and she could hear what he was saying.

"I'm sorry. I'm _so_ sorry."

The child on his left shook and cried. "_Daddy!_ I want my daddy!"

Molly swallowed hard. _Merlin._ She didn't know where they were from, or why they'd come here, but she wasn't about to interrupt this moment. A little girl was dying, and the only man who knew why was already talking to her. She wasn't about to take that away from either of them.

She stood silently through the entire conversation, shushing Arthur when he came up in his dressing gown. He gasped quietly, and then joined her in watching, patting her shoulder gently.

It wasn't until the man stood, trying to contain his sobs, that Molly opened the door all the way and stepped onto the porch. "Hello."

The man gasped and spun. His hands went up almost automatically, and he stared at them in shock. "Sorry – I – your house – I'm sorry."

It said so many terrible things about him that that was the first conclusion he jumped to. Molly bustled out onto the porch. "Come here, dear, and tell me all about what's going on."

Hesitantly the man stepped forward, hands still up. "I – you should know – I'm not who I look like. I mean, I look like someone else, and I'm not him, I swear!"

As he stepped into the light from the kitchen, Molly jerked back. "Barty Crouch!"

The man sighed in defeat, running a hand through already-mussed hair. "That would be him, yes."

"Molly," Arthur murmured. "I know this man." He stepped around you. "What's your name?" His wand was out, but he didn't have it pointed at anyone.

Stopping abruptly, the man raised both hands again. "Ah – I'm the Doctor?" He sounded uncertain, like people didn't normally accept this answer.

Arthur gasped. "Molly, remember years ago, after Godric's Hallow, when I came home that night? It's him."

Yes she remembered, of course she remembered. It had been a year after You-Know-Who fell, and Arthur had come home from work uneasy, with a collection of objects that he insisted had been given to him by a stranger in the Ministry. She turned new eyes on the man now that she knew he wasn't a Death Eater. "Would you like a cuppa? You look half froze."

The man twitched faintly. "You believe me. Why? Everyone else –" He cut off his babbling halfway, bringing his hands to his face. "Oh Gallifrey, they're dead. I _killed_ them. I have to go back!" He spun, running back to the bodies. "I've got to go, people are still there. I'm sorry," he called back to them. "I'll come back! I hope I will, at least!" He spun on the spot in the darkness.

Nothing happened.

"Why – no! I – come back here!" he yelled to the air. "No, I can feel you, I can touch you, but why won't you let me get there? Anywhere else, but not near there! I have to go back! I have to rescue them!"

Arthur ran out into the yard and grabbed the man around the shoulders. "Someone put up an Anti-Apparation ward, did they? Come here, come here, Doctor. It's not your fault."

The man threw him away. "Yes it is!" His voice broke as he howled at the sky. "It's always my fault! Always! If I hadn't been there, he wouldn't have gotten involved. He would be safe now. I promised him. I _promised_ him he would never have to do that again. I _promised_ them they would be safe, and look – _look!_" He pointed at the bodies. "Dead! Eighteen dead because _I_ keep getting involved!"

"Doctor." Arthur pulled the man back into a tense hug. "They're dead because we're at war, and I bet you ran into some Death Eaters, didn't you? It's their fault. Whatever happens, it's always the killer's fault that someone lies dead." He pulled something out of a pocket, the yard too dark for Molly to see what it was. "Look at me Doctor. Just look at me for a minute, because I have something that will make you feel better and let you rescue your friends, if everything you told me was true. Here." Whatever the something was, Arthur put it into the man's hand.

Gasping, the man backed up. "That's why I know you!" His entire demeanour had changed. In a split second he had gone from depressed to excited, and it left her exhausted just to watch him. "I gave you the key! I gave you the key to my tardis, that's why I know you, I'd seen you before, but it was too close to the change, and I subsumed the memories. Where? Where did I meet you?"

Arthur looked down, and she knew he was smiling. "The Department of Mysteries in the Ministry of Magic. Let's go in and have a cuppa, and I can explain it."

The man twitched, jerking his head. "I – I need to go back. I told him – I _promised_ him."

"I know, Doctor," Arthur said calmly. "But there's no way for you to get there before You-Know-Who ends the meeting. Your friend will be dead by now."

Doctor – if that was his name – moaned. "No. No, he won't. That's the worst part." He ran a hand through his hair again. "Fine. A cuppa. Department of Mysteries, you said? Sounds about right. I mean, never heard the name before, but sounds typical for me."

Arthur nodded. "You told me to give you these as well." He passed over another small object – or possibly several, Molly couldn't tell in the darkness.

"Thank you," Doctor murmured. "I needed these."

Resting one hand on Doctor's shoulder, Arthur began leading him gently towards the Burrow. "Come on. Molly'll get you a cuppa. We've got extra beds, and you can just have a nice rest."

Flipping something in his hands, Doctor looked up at Arthur. "Right. Thanks again. Ah – I just need to check this." He walked into the circle of light, holding out a black billfold to Molly. "Sorry, but what does this say?"

Molly frowned. "That you're an Auror Captain for the Irish Government, with an Order of Merlin and a Mastery in Defence."

"Really?" He flipped the billfold around and peered at it. "That's good. I didn't know it could do that."

Arthur caught up to them, leading the way back into the Burrow. "Do what? Is this a Muggle trick?"

Doctor shook his head. "No. No, no, no. It's not human technology." He stumbled into the house, the billfold and some metal prod in one hand. "I could really use that cuppa."

Molly bustled around them, headed for the kitchen. "When was the last time you ate?"

Collapsing into a chair, Doctor tried to count on his fingers. "Yesterday? Yesterday evening? I – well, I was in prison, and it was prison food, so the last proper meal was – ah – oh, must have been yesterday afternoon. Before that – not the day before, or the day before that. And then that's the part I can't remember."

"Oh, _Merlin_," Molly sighed. "You poor boy, you must be famished! Just stay there, and I'll get you something to eat." She whirled around the kitchen, fetching a cup and the tea kettle, pouring a cup of tea, handing it to Doctor – how _could_ that be his name? – and then turning to one of the cupboards, the refrigerated one, to grab food: a light pasty or something.

The strange man blinked at her. "Famished – yeah, that makes sense. Famished. Oh, I _am_ an idiot. Lack of food – of _course_ I've been a bit daft. Well, more so than usual. And, you know," he waved a hand, apparently waiting for a response that never came. Trying to cover the awkward silence, he grabbed the cup of tea, taking a quick drink and looking considerably more awake. "Tea. A superheated infusion of free radicals and tannin. Much better." He beamed at her.

* * *

_Next time on Doctor Who – Episode 4: Bigger on the Inside._

"_I am an Auror. And you are under arrest for violating Ministry secrets out of hours." _

"_So violating Ministry secrets during opening hours is okay then, is it?" _

…

"_A wand is just a tool, nothing more and nothing less. Any tool can be used for good or for ill; only Dark wizards use their wands to kill."_

"_That's a lie. That's a pretty lie, but that's a lie."_

…

"_Severus – no – Severus Snape? I thought you looked familiar. Hello. I'm the Doctor. We haven't met yet, but you're very prominent in the Corsair's memories. He – ah – he doesn't like you very much, I'm afraid."_

…

"_Yes! That's it! Molly Weasley, you are brilliant!"_

…

"_What is it about humans? Of course we'll cause a disruption. There's no way for me to get in and out silently, so causing a great big messy disruption is the perfect solution."_

…

"_You."_

"_Me."_


	15. Bigger on the Inside, I

******************Doctor Who, Special Series; Episode 4: Bigger on the Inside**  


**A/N: I would like to say right now, I really like this episode. As in really, **_**really**_** like. There will be answers here, I swear!**

**I swore I wasn't going to do this, but _OH MY GOD I HIT 50K LAST NIGHT!_ *squee!***

**Thanks to everyone who reviewed, favourited, and alerted. 100th reviewer gets a one-shot on the topic of their choice (so long as it's in HP or DW. I can't write anything else!)!**

**Sonic Screwdriver Setting 42: I don't even know why I'm doing this anymore. I honestly don't.**

* * *

This new job wasn't what she thought it was going to be. Well, truthfully, it wasn't really a job. More like a hobby. Or a mission. Whatever she was going to call it, it wasn't like she'd imagined. No daring raids into hidden bases. No chases across moonlit rooftops. No fire fights to the death at midnight. Or noon, actually. Or at all.

In all fairness, it had only been four days since He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named returned, and three since Kingsley had walked into her office asking if she wanted to get back at her mum's family. Two since she had joined the Order of the Phoenix.

Nymphadora Tonks groaned, leaning her head against the wall. Guard duty. She hated it as an Auror and hated it even more as a – a – whatever she was. Order member, she guessed, but that didn't sound very spiffy. Then again, neither did Death Eater, so...

Guard duty for a weapon that no one would explain. She was too junior, too untried. What if she broke and told her aunt? Either aunt, honestly, since no one expected Bellatrix to remain in Azkaban for much longer. What if she was already Marked, but it was disguised? What if, what if, what if?

She was sick of it, sick of the distrust from one side and the hatred from the other for having the wrong blood and the wrong values. Which made it all the more ironic that she had been in Hufflepuff, home of the loyal. She knew she was loyal, and the Hat knew she was loyal, but no one else did.

It was dark and cold in the bowels of the Ministry, probably because budget cuts meant only the offices actually got heating and everyone tried to spend as little time in the hallways as possible. The cold wasn't so much of a problem – it was the end of June, practically high summer in British standards – but the darkness was. In order to remain hidden, she couldn't have any light, which left the corridor pitch black. She flipped her wand in her hands, about the limit of where she could see. She couldn't even make out the opposite wall, let alone anyone coming down the hallway.

Fricking guard duty. Four hour shifts, and hers was from eleven to three in the morning. Why was she even here? Oh yeah, because she wanted to do what's _right._

_Yeah? Well, screw that. Give this up. You're just making life harder for yourself. Go back to your job. Quit betraying the Ministry. You know that's what you're doing, coming here at night. Alone._

She shoved that voice away, the one that always liked to come out at times like this, calling up the other one.

_Oh? Go back to lowest on the totem pole, disliked by half the squad because of your father's blood and distrusted by the other half because of your mother's. Go back to being lowest paid, go back to your desk job even though they promised you'd be on missions within a month, go back to boring, useless, stifling jobs. Go back to letting the Dark win._

Hell no. She wasn't a quitter, whatever other names they liked to use. No, she was going to tough this one out. Fight in a war, on the side she believed in.

The sound of footsteps in the hall brought her back to attention. She had to swallow a shout; part of her wanted to call out 'who's there' but most of her remembered. The Order had no place in the Department of Mysteries, and she could be arrested just for being here. Instead she shrank further into the shadows, hoping to see who else was breaking Ministry regs at one in the morning.

Whoever it was had a limp, or something. She should know, after three years study with Mad-eye. But it wasn't really a limp, because they took three normal steps, and then landed harder on the fourth, with a pause after that. It was certainly a distinctive walking pattern, and she'd be sure to remember it.

She pressed her back against the wood-panelled wall that led to the entrance to the Department. Maybe she could catch a glimpse of a hitherto-unknown Death Eater and take his name back to Dumbledore! That was, of course, if she could _see_ them. Something that was, by the sound of their footsteps, increasingly unlikely. They were getting closer and closer to her, and she still couldn't see them, and it was starting to worry her, not that she would ever admit to being worried, because she was an Auror and Aurors weren't –

"Hello, Nymphadora," a quiet voice purred.

She shrieked, albeit quietly, and jumped. The back of her head banged against the panelling.

Someone chuckled. "That's not very stealthy," they chided. "Now shush. We don't want the Aurors coming down, now do we?"

Snarling, she pointed her wand in the direction of the voice. "I _am_ an Auror," she snapped, trying valiantly to keep her voice down. "And you are under arrest for violating Ministry secrets out of hours." She was mangling the standard procedure, but she didn't really care: it was _dark_ and he'd scared her, _damnit!_ At least, she thought it was a he.

"So violating Ministry secrets _during_ opening hours is okay then, is it?" The voice chuckled again. It definitely belonged to a bloke of some sort. "And you're not going to arrest me. You're not supposed to be down here any more than I am, and I've got more friends in high places."

There was something about his voice that sent shivers up her spine, something cold and cruel, ageless and boundless. Inhuman. Straightening her spine, she jerked her chin up. "Then you don't want their attention either. Just leave, okay?" She hated how her voice went all whiny on the last sentence, but it was already out of her mouth, too late to take back.

He chuckled again, darkly. "Place your wand on the floor, Nymphadora, and slide it towards me."

"Don't call me 'Nymphadora!" she spat, giving up on speaking quietly. "And why should I?" She kept her wand trained on the direction of the voice, but allocated some effort to changing her appearance. Whoever it was might know her name, but if she didn't _look_ like herself, it would be harder for anyone else to identify her, and harder for her – kidnapper? assailant? mysterious stalker in the middle of the night? – whatever to prove she was Nymphadora Tonks.

"Because I can see you," he said flatly. "And I have a wand."

Blood drained from her face. If he could see her – and she couldn't see him – and he had a wand… "Alright. Putting my wand down now." Bending down, she placed her wand on the floor. A flick of her wrist sent it skidding off into the darkness.

"Good girl." A purr of satisfaction had returned to the voice. There was a pause and then a clatter – she assumed because he was picking up her wand. "Let's move along, then, shall we?"

She was starting to tremble, try as she might to keep calm. "Why? Where?"

In a heartbeat there was a wand pressed to her cheek, a body almost touching her. "_Don't_ question me. We are leaving. Come." The wand was removed, and the footsteps began again, leading away, deeper into the Department of Mysteries.

"No." Bravery wasn't only limited to Gryffindors.

There was a hiss of displeasure from the darkness. "Listen to me, _human_ – you are a pawn. You are a playing chip in a much greater game, and you are expendable. If you do not wish to live, I can solve that problem now. Otherwise – come."

Shuddering now, she swallowed hard. "Fine."

"And _don't _talk," he added, starting to walk again.

She contemplated replying, just to annoy him, but then thought better of it: he had her wand, after all, and he certainly didn't sound stable. Carefully, she took small, faltering steps towards the voice. Coordination wasn't her strong suit in the day; it certainly wasn't going to be any good at night.

"Faster!" The voice came from farther ahead of her.

She took longer steps, steadier now that the threat of immediate death had passed, but slowed back down the instant one foot landed sideways. "I'll fall."

He laughed. "See if I care."

Frowning, she stopped entirely. "Then I'll make a lot of noise and slow you down even further."

Grudgingly he hissed, "_Lumos._" As the ball of soft light spread from the tip of his wand, he spun to face her. "There. Is that better, Nymphadora Tonks?" Malice dripped off his words

She swore quietly, stepping backwards. "You! But you – you're not –" She knew that face, knew his name, knew the man who had kidnapped her for reasons unknown, and hadn't the faintest idea what to do with that knowledge.

Black humour fit very well on his face. "No. Now come!" The last word was louder than was probably safe: from above, she could here footsteps and clattering. "No more talking." With that, he turned around again and began walking quickly to the end of the corridor.

She followed, more uncertain than ever about her fate.


	16. Bigger on the Inside, II

**********************Doctor Who, Special Series; Episode 4: Bigger on the Inside**  


**A/N: Just to be clear, this chapter takes place on the evening of June 29****th****. The previous chapter took place early in the morning of June 30****th****. This will be important later._  
_**

**This is going up early because of Epic Emma 2017, who's going on a trip tomorrow and wanted this up in time to read it first. Which just made me so happy (OMG SOMEONE WANTS TO READ THIS SO MUCH THEY CAN'T WAIT A DAY?! *squees of sheer joy*) that I decided to put it up tonight instead of tomorrow morning.**

**Thanks to everyone who reviewed, favourited, and alerted. Also to I Love Steven Moffat, who got the 100th review, and will be getting a one shot ... at some point.**

**Sonic Screwdriver Setting 42: Has anyone figured out the significance of the setting number yet?**

* * *

It had been a fascinating day. Well, not really a day. More like six hours, given that he'd slept until noon – imagine it! Him! Sleeping to _noon_! – and that it was barely supper time now. Still. It had been fascinating. Brilliant, even.

He'd woken up, and discovered that Molly Weasley's mothering instinct extended to unknown dangerous aliens who turned up unexplained in the middle of the night. After pressing breakfast on him, she'd focused on his clothing, which admittedly was a bit shabby after the previous day's endeavours. She'd marched him up the stairs – and any who had just heard his legends and never met him would have found it hilarious to see the Doctor being ordered around by a puny human female. Of course, most of them had never met _any_ human female, let alone Molly Weasley, which he felt gave him some excuse.

It transpired that Molly had an excess of sons, one of whom – Bill, apparently – was about his size. And had _very_ good taste in clothes, whatever his mother thought. He'd ended up with a black suit with grey pinstripes over a silver dress shirt and black tie, not wholly his colours, but far better than the medical _uniform_ he'd been in. And it _fit_ after Molly worked some magic on it – literally. She had offered him a set of silver robes with black trim to go over the top, but he'd refused. Best to stick with the suit, which bore an uncanny resemblance to his own. It made a disturbing sort of sense – his suits were from a designer in London who specialized in a combination of classy, practical, and antique designs, and it certainly appeared that the wizarding world ran on a similar combination. Along with a hefty dose of insanity. Well, originally they were from the TARDIS. But when they needed to be touched up – which was often, given his lifestyle – he went to this little place in the centre of London to get alterations made.

It had changed him, putting the suit on. His clothes were his armour. They were his protection against the world, the support he needed to keep going, the symbol of his person. A weapon, when they needed to be. It fit, in some odd way, that this new suit was black. He had the sneaking feeling that he was going to need that reminder eventually.

Now he was sitting at the Weasley's table, chattering away at ninety kilometres a minute to Arthur, who was listening intently, albeit with some confusion.

"Lovely suit – good choice for a ginger, black. Why can't I ever be ginger? Anyway, so then Molly dear fed me lunch – not that I need it, because I don't strictly need three meals a day –"

"Yes, you do," Molly cut him off from the kitchen. "You're three stones underweight, so you _will_ be eating three square meals a day if _I _have anything to say about it."

Somehow the Doctor suspected that she would, yes, have a great deal to say about it. "And then we went to Diagon Alley, which I maintain was a mistake, because last time I was there, there were Aurors out to get me, but Molly – wonderful woman, your wife, do you know that? – so Molly said that I look different enough, because of the suit – lovely suit – and my hair…" He pulled at the stuff, making it all stand on end again. Someone – he suspected Bill – had hair gel, which had thoroughly amused him for several minutes.

"And then we went to Gringotts, to see about getting me a vault – vault, wonderful word, so much better than account, account just sounds _boring_, vault, now vault sounds like it might have valuables in it, which really isn't a good thing, because any time there's a vault involved I usually need to break into it… Where was I? Oh, my vault. My vault at Gringotts. Did you know that the goblins are actually Silurians? Really, they are. I mean, it's a new tribe, I haven't seen them before, but they're definitely still the same species. Well, sort of. Same genus, anyway. They haven't seen any of the other tribes for thousands of years, so they could be separate species by now. I didn't know what they were at first, but they recognized me, of course –"

"Of course?" Arthur said, inserting himself into the conversation for the first time. Really, it wasn't a conversation so much as the Doctor monologuing with himself.

The Doctor waved a hand. "I'm famous. Anyway, they announced that they owed me a favour – apparently I helped them set up their hibernation devices? I'm a little unclear on that bit, I don't think I've done it yet. So they gave me access to the Gringotts funds."

"All of them," Molly said flatly, poking her head out of the kitchen.

Arthur blinked in amazement. "The goblins gave you access to _all_ of the Gringotts funds?"

The Doctor wrinkled his nose. "Well, not _all_ of them. Just – ah – most? Anything I need? Is that unusual? Must be, for you to be looking at me like that. Oops. If it helps, I – ah- transferred some of the funds? I thought you could use some –" He swallowed the next word, finally coming out with, "assistance?"

"Thank you, Doctor," Arthur said politely, "but we do not."

He grinned at the ginger, having anticipated that. "Sorry! Can't undo it. Specifically told the Silurians not to let me – or anyone, really – undo it. You're stuck with the money. Gold. They use _gold_, how odd is that? I mean, gold compounds, yes, gold _substitutes,_ certainly, we've got those all over the place, but pure _gold_?"

Arthur cleared his throat. "Doctor. We do not accept charity."

"But it's not charity," the Doctor protested, genuinely confused. "You gave me food, and a place to sleep, and this!" He tugged at the suit jacket. "I had to do _something_."

Molly shared a glance with Arthur. "How much was the 'something'?" She gave him a stern look.

The Doctor wiggled in his chair. "A bit? Some? Enough?" He wasn't about to tell them precisely _how_ much he'd gotten the Silurians to give them, but Arthur probably wouldn't be pleased that it was more than he would make in his lifetime.

"Doctor." Arthur looked at Molly again.

Before this could go any farther, the Doctor changed the subject. "And then I got a wand. Ollivander is human, I thought you'd want to know, even as much as he seems like he isn't. We had a lovely conversation, though –"

"I would call it terrifying," Molly put in, setting a plate of food in front of the Doctor. "Eat this."

He looked at the plate. "Really, Molly, I don't need –" He cut off at her glare. "Why was our conversation terrifying?"

"You were worried about the wand exploding," Molly said flatly.

The Doctor made a noncommittal noise. "Things tend to do that around me."

Molly snorted. "He acted like you were serious."

"I was!" He decided that the best solution was to stop talking, for once. Grabbing the topmost pasty – why did he have three of the things? – he took a bite. "Mph. 'S good."

Laughing, Molly sat across from him, next to Arthur. "You sound surprised."

He pulled a face at her, taking another bite. Swallowing, he waved a hand – the empty one. "So. Got a wand. Don't know what I'm gonna do with it, though – seems like the things are only good for killing." The Doctor touched his wand, lying on the table.

His wand. His. On second thought, whose idea was it to give him a wand? But now he had one, and all of the Corsair's memories on working with one, and it matched him, and the feel he got when he cast a spell was so wonderful that he almost wanted to keep the thing. Until, as always, he remembered the look on Jenson's face, and the sight of Margaret lying on the ground – she had been buried under a tree in a ceremony stolen and mangled from half-a-dozen cultures – and then all he wanted to do was break it, his wand and every last one in existence.

Arthur gave him a look, probably perfected from years of raising sons. "I can see why you would think that. But a wand is just a tool, nothing more and nothing less. Any tool can be used for good or for ill; only Dark wizards use their wands to kill." It sounded like the sort of speech he'd given seven times before, one for each child.

The Doctor scoffed. "That's a lie. That's a _pretty_ lie, but that's a lie. See this?" He pulled out his screwdriver from the inside of his jacket. "This is a sonic screwdriver. I don't care what buttons you press, you can't kill anyone with it. Lock doors, yes, unlock doors, fiddle with the machinery, change things, but - doesn't matter what you try, there will be no dead."

Arthur frowned. "What if you used it to – to unlock a door and released a monster?"

He flinched. Unleashing the Cybermen on the Daleks – they'd both deserved it. But he'd sent them against each other to die, he'd known that, and yes it was the two groups who hated him the most, but since when did that give him the right to do anything? "I do not kill," he bit out, remembering all of the many, many times he had.

Something snapped and sizzled from outside.

"Molly." Arthur stood, looking at her. "The wards." His wand was out as he headed for the front door.

She nodded, drawing her own wand. "I'll back you up."

_Wards wards wards. Why do they need wards _here_?_

Setting the pasty carefully down, the Doctor stood, storing his new wand in a pocket but keeping his screwdriver out. Straightening the jacket, he followed Arthur out onto the porch. "Who's here?"

"Severus," Arthur said calmly. "What's wrong?"

The black haired man swept towards the house – evidently he had Apparated at the edge of the wards. "Why would anything be wrong?" he asked absolutely dead-pan. "I normally take time out of my very busy schedule to visit ramshackle houses in the middle of nowhere."

The Doctor frowned, leaning on the railing. "Severus – no – Severus Snape? I thought you looked familiar. Hello. I'm the Doctor. We haven't met yet, but you're very prominent in the Corsair's memories. He – ah – he doesn't like you very much, I'm afraid." There were a lot of memories connected with one Severus Snape. Most of them involved the Corsair tormenting a younger version of him.

Severus blinked at this. "You quite upset the Dark Lord last night, Doctor. Your friend is not doing very well."

_What? Oh, of course. That's part of why the Corsair didn't like him. He's a Death Eater spy._

"And the others?" the Doctor asked, afraid he already knew the answer.

The other man sighed. "Dead, I'm afraid. It – for them, it came fast. Your friend – the Dark Lord is jealous."

Fiddling with his screwdriver, the Doctor looked down. "I suspected that would be the problem. His name is Jack, by the way. Jack Harkness. Tell him I'm coming to get him. And don't let him flirt too much."

Severus raised an eyebrow. "Anything else you want me to tell a very highly guarded prisoner of a paranoid maniac?"

"Yes, actually," the Doctor said, smiling. "I'm sorry. Tell him. I'm so, so sorry that I got him into this again. When he says that it's not my fault – he will, he always does – you can inform him that there wouldn't be a hole to this world if it wasn't for me, so yes it is. Then tell him that he's welcome to escape if he can make it work. I don't need him there for any – any thingy – ah – plan."

This got a flat stare. "Are you always this flamboyantly bizarre?"

The Doctor beamed at him. "Yep!" He flipped the screwdriver over in his hand. "So. What's up?"

"You are aware that you have no fewer than three heavily armed groups out for your blood right now?" Severus asked, walking towards the porch.

_Ooh. Three? I was only at two._

The Doctor tucked the screwdriver away, fully aware he was only fiddling with it to relieve stress. "The Order of the Phoenix, the Death Eaters, and – who else?" He ran a hand through his hair. "Oh… Of course! The Ministry. Ineffectual prats they may be, but they'll still be an inconvenience."

Arthur made a sputtering noise. "Wait – the Order wants you?"

The Doctor waved a hand. "I – ah – may have given Albus the impression that I was an untrustworthy murderer with far too many secrets in my head. He should be fine now; I did what he asked. Ooh. I did, didn't I? That wasn't intentional."

One of Severus' eyebrows popped up again. "Care to explain?"

"Oh – nothing important, really. He thought I knew too much, but the normal techniques won't work on me – Time Lord," he said, pointing at his head, "you see? Well, no, you don't, of course you don't, but still – I know too much for Albus' comfort, so he thought I should prove myself. Something I'm fine with, in theory, but he thought I should go to Voldemort – ooh. If that hurts me, won't it hurt you too? Sorry about that, it's just all the other options sound so – so _silly_. Right, so he thought I should go to _him_ and denounce him in front of all of his Death Eaters. Which I thought was quite stupid, really, because that would result in my death, which is really rather a bad thing, because I'm the only thing keeping you lot alive long enough to save yourselves. And somehow I ended up doing it. Of course, a lot more people died – how many?" he asked suddenly, abruptly serious.

Severus stared at him in silence.

The Doctor vaulted over the porch railings, landing in front of Severus. "Tell me! How many died last night? How many did I kill?"

Severus took a step backwards. "The Dark Lord required twenty-five Muggles for his planned games last night. Of those, one survives."

"Jack." The Doctor groaned, kneeling down, head in hands. "Twenty-four more. Always. Always the dead. _Gods!_" he cried out, voice cracking. "I – I tried to come back." It was too soon, he wasn't ready to hear more bad news yet.

Clearing his throat, Severus nodded. "Himself put up Anti-Apparation wards."

The Doctor grunted, standing back up. "Right. You were sent here. Albus. What does he want now?"

"I wasn't sent for you," Severus said with a half-smile. "Arthur – I will be preoccupied tonight. Is it possible…" Something throbbed in his cheek as he swallowed the end of the sentence.

Arthur smiled. "Of course I can take your shift, Severus."

"Shift?" the Doctor said, perking up again. Mood swings – gotta love them. Or hate them, as the case may be. "What shift? Where? Why?"

Severus nodded tersely. "I will see you at the next meeting, Arthur. Molly." He turned and made his way away from the house.


	17. Bigger on the Inside, III

**************************Doctor Who, Special Series; Episode 4: Bigger on the Inside**

**A/N: It wasn't until I was writing this author's note that I realized how much of a twist there is between the end of last chapter and this one. Oops! *unrepentant grin***

**Thanks to everyone who reviewed, favourited, and alerted.**

**Sonic Screwdriver Setting 42: Last chapter in November! I hope I survived… Since the next chapter's up on December 1****st****, the same system still applies. After that goes up, I'll be able to start replying to reviews and personalizing the A/Ns again. If some of you guessed the antagonist, congrat's. For the rest of you, you get to wait another chapter or so! (Do you hate me yet? I really hope you do.) If you _do_ guess the antagonist, _please_ don't spoil it in a review. Leave your review (thanks much!) and then PM me the details. Thanks in advance!**

* * *

"Oi! Hold up a mo'!" The Doctor jerked forward, frowning. "What are you assigning shifts for? Guard duty? On what?"

Stopping, Severus looked back over his shoulder. "Order secrets."

The Doctor ran up to him, looking deep into those black eyes. "No. That won't stop me. What are you guarding and why don't you want me to know?" He was as tall as the other man, but was standing straighter right now.

Severus drew himself up. "No, Doctor. The Dark Lord may not trust you, but that doesn't mean we are on the same side."

Hissing, the Doctor leaned towards him. "Tell me." The air was dangerous as they stared at each other. The Doctor was done with secrets, done with things he wasn't being told, done with being _manipulated_ all the time.

"A prophecy," Molly said suddenly. "In the Department of Mysteries, at the bottom of the Ministry of Magic. A prophecy about Harry and You-Know-Who."

He froze, things starting to come together, but slowly, oh _so_ slowly. "Molly – what else is in the Department of Mysteries?"

He could hear the confusion in her voice. "I – I don't know. No one knows. They could have _anything_ down there. They won't talk about it, you know. The workers are called Unspeakables because they won't talk about whatever they've got down there."

The Doctor spun, a maniac light in his eyes. He'd heard about the Department the night before, but hadn't put together that there were _things_ in there – this world had prophecies –something he could go back to later. And it was at the bottom, always easier to get into the basement, yes of course it was, because… "Yes! That's it! Molly Weasley, you are brilliant!" He twirled in a circle, hands in the air. "Ha! I'm coming to get you!" he yelled into the air. "I know where you are now! Haha!"

"What do you know?" Severus asked coldly, wand out.

The Doctor faced him, grinning broadly. "Everything! I know where she is! I can go – Arthur. I need you to take me to the Department of Mysteries." He couldn't contain the excitement coursing through his veins, vibrating in his enthusiasm.

Severus jabbed his wand into the Doctor's chest. "Doctor. What. Do. You. Know?"

"Punctuated for emphasis, anyone? No? Apparently hasn't been popularized yet," the Doctor commented. "My TARDIS is in the Department of Mysteries. And _you_," he waved vaguely in the direction of Arthur, "are going to take me to get her."

Severus scowled. "What," he enunciated clearly, "is a tardis?"

The Doctor beamed at him, steadily ignoring the wand in his chest. "Time And Relative Dimension In Space. T-A-R-D-I-S. TARDIS. My spaceship. Well, actually she's a time-ship, but no one really seems to understand that, so I just tell them she's a spaceship. Of course, then she's upset with me and I end up in the middle of the Arctic Ocean for three weeks, but never mind that, because I know where she is now, and I am coming to get you!" he screamed into the air.

Arthur cleared his throat. "Doctor, how do you know that your – your Tardis is in the Department of Mysteries?"

Spinning away from Severus, the Doctor leaped at Arthur, a madcap grin on his face. "Is there a door in there? Ah – actually, I take that back. Is there a locked door in there, one that no one can ever seem to get unlocked?"

"Yes," Arthur said slowly. "Yes, there is. But –"

"That's her!" the Doctor yelled. "She's disguised herself as a door – clever girl! Well, not a door, per se, she's behind the door, but the door's locked because she's there. Once I get her out, it'll just be an ordinary door. Room. Well, as ordinary as a room can get when it's located in the Department of _Mysteries._"

Severus made a choking noise that might have been a laugh. "You have a rocket ship in the Ministry of Magic, and you mean to simply stroll in and take it back?"

The Doctor gave him a stern look. "My TARDIS does not have any _rockets_. She's a time ship, built by the Time Lords, not by…" He waved a hand, looking for a suitable word. "_Humans_," he finished finally.

Severus looked at him oddly, but distained to comment.

"Arthur," the Doctor said, returning his attention to the ginger. "I _have_ to go to the Department of Mysteries. I do not care what you have to do, but whatever I told you twelve years ago to make you trust me, remember it now." He honestly hadn't a clue what he'd told Arthur, but it must have been something big to stick with the man through twelve years and a war.

Silently, Arthur walked out to stand next to the Doctor. "We need to wait. Severus' shift – my shift is from four to eight tomorrow morning. If we go in before that point, we'll cause a disruption."

The Doctor rolled his eyes. "What _is_ it about humans? Of _course_ we'll cause a disruption. There's no way for me to get in and out silently, so causing a great big messy disruption is the perfect solution. Ah." He wound his hands in his hair. "Which means I need a plan."

"Severus, would you like some supper?" Molly asked from the porch. "You aren't going to solve anything standing out here blabbering on. Come in and get something to eat."

Severus opened his mouth to say something – presumably a denial – but the Doctor got there first. He'd gone from exuberant to annoyed in the space of a heartbeat; he was so, _so_ ready to get his TARDIS back, and so, _so_ done with the endless delays. "No! I don't _need_ food. I _need_ my TARDIS. You think I'm skinny? I've been away from her too long. I need something that only she can give me, and the longer we're apart, the worse it gets. I've been acting like more of a ditz than usual not because I'm starving, but because I'm bloated and I need a safe place to dispose of it. Well, initially it was because I was starving, but that's fixed now, and now it's 'cause I need my TARDIS."

"What does your TARDIS give you that you cannot get otherwise?" Severus was calm beyond all possible reason; he was one of the most controlled humans the Doctor had ever run into.

The Doctor looked at him, trying to keep the fear and pain and bone-deep _hunger_ off his face. He suspected that he had failed miserably. "The Time Vortex. She gives me access to the Time Vortex, allowing me to stabilize the influx of artron energy. Right now it's just raging uncontrolled, and my body's burning itself up trying to contain it. And in return, I give her the bleed-off that I'm not able to absorb. That make it clear?" Rage trembled in his voice. _Damn_ these silly, pathetic humans for keeping him from his TARDIS for even a moment longer.

Severus met his eyes steadily. "How much longer?"

He swallowed, half in dread and half in anticipation. If he had been here for twelve years – but he had been human for most of it – the only time his body could have been absorbing the energy was in the last four days – except that even when human, there was still the low level absorption… "Less than a month," he said finally. "More than that, I don't know right now." It _burned_ having to admit to that, but he saw no other choice. "And – and for the last bit of that, I won't – won't be able to do anything." Funny that it hurt more to claim ignorance than it did to announce his coming paralysis, but there it was.

"You said your TARDIS was built by Time Lords," Severus said, demonstrating that he was following the convoluted conversation _far_ too well. "Do the others have this problem?"

The Doctor flinched at the reminder. "Most of them weren't as connected to their TARDISes as I am. She opened my – ah – pores? To more artron energy, because the more I took in, the less often we would have to refuel. And we were always, always together, until – until now."

Something that might have been sympathy flashed across Severus' face. "Yes, Molly, I think I will have supper."

The Doctor made a strangled half-noise. "I – I have to –"

"A month, Doctor. If you have a month to live, we can afford to spend half-an-hour preparing so that we do not die _today_. Do I make myself clear?" Severus appeared annoyed now, but he was better at controlling his emotions than any other human the Doctor had ever met, so that didn't really mean anything.

Of course, that wasn't what he picked up on. "We? No, no, no, there is no _we_. I just need someone to get me into the Department of Mysteries and then whoever it is can leave. I won't have time to watch over anyone."

Arthur laughed. "You think we'll let you go alone? And you won't need to watch over us. We can take care of ourselves."

The Doctor spun back and forth between the other two men. "No, no, I – I – I – I'm not human. You got that?"

Severus raised one cool eyebrow. "I'd gathered."

"Yes, well – I'm an alien. From another planet." He had to tell them, had to show them how horribly, utterly _dangerous_ this was, but he wasn't sure they were listening.

The second eyebrow rose as well as Severus looked at him appraisingly. "Mars?"

The Doctor flinched. Memories of Donna – wonderful, brave, snarky Donna – ran through his head. "No. No. Not Mars. Somewhere else. But there'll be others there. And – and – and they won't necessarily look human. He – they'll be able to do things humans can't – wizards too, they – they're more powerful than you can imagine. And if you go in there tonight, I – I can't promise you'll be safe. I can't promise you'll get out alive."

Severus' eyebrows arched still higher. "I spy on the Headmaster and the Dark Lord. How _daft_ must you be to imagine that I could _ever_ be safe?"

That shocked a laugh out of the Doctor. "Right. Food for the humans, and then a – a plan. Thing. Things are better than plans. Good. And a – a – a group. Unit. No, not unit. Gang. Thing. People!" He gave up on words, settling for swinging one arm around an _extremely _discomforted Severus' shoulder and walking back to the Burrow.

* * *

As it turned out, the plan was not necessary. Someone – it was not immediately clear who – had taken out five Ministry guards between the hours of eight o'clock and midnight, leaving their bruised and broken bodies on the floor. The resulting hysteria resulted in every active duty Auror getting called up, followed almost immediately by Auror Captain Shacklebolt getting permission for the Order of the Phoenix to come in. This Severus was required to report to Voldemort, who decided to test his growing power by sending in his Death Eaters. Since the Aurors were all in plainclothes, it was impossible to tell the difference between any member of the three groups, leading almost immediately to a three-way fire fight in the corridors of the Ministry.

The Doctor wasn't sure if this was hilarious or sad, but since it would provide the distraction he needed to get his TARDIS out, he didn't particularly care. In the chaos at the Ministry, it was easy for Arthur to Side-Along the Doctor in. With his black suit and no robes, he could have been a member of any one of the three groups, which occasionally meant everyone was firing at him, and occasionally meant no one was firing at him. He didn't really care; he could dodge the vast majority of the spells sent at him, and most of the rest weren't that dangerous. Of course, there was the one that had put a gash in his left arm, but that didn't matter.

The halls of the Ministry were dark – well, it _was_ one in the morning – lit sporadically by spell light. Any sort of organized attack or defence had long since been abandoned due to the dark and the confusion. The strategy of the day seemed to be fire at anything that moved and hope they didn't fire back.

The Doctor ignored all this, strolling nonchalantly through the battlefield, hands in his pockets. He'd left the wand conveniently at the Burrow – he'd never wanted the bloody thing – but his screwdriver and psychic paper were in his pockets, and the TARDIS key was back on its string around his neck. For some reason he felt happy – actually, not for some reason. He knew precisely _why_, it was just in the area of himself that he preferred not to examine too closely. He _liked _it, he liked the adrenaline and the thrill and the rush, he liked the power he found in saving the world again and again. He hated that he liked it, but he did. It was why he always seemed to end up in these sorts of situations.

_No, it's not,_ the little voice reminded him. _You're in this situation because you have been consistently manipulated for what is apparently the past twelve years. Now quit blaming yourself and go find your TARDIS!_

He dodged another spell, and continued down the corridors. There had to be a lift around here somewhere – aha! Hammering on the button, he waited impatiently for the machine to show up. When the metal grate finally opened, the lift disgorged a panicked Ministry employee of some sort, robes torn and bloody, tears running down his face.

"The – the lock! It's been weakened!"

The Doctor gave him a sweeping glance. "What lock? Where?" If it had anything to do with his TARDIS, if someone was trying to break in – he didn't know what he would do, given that push.

The man gaped at him. "The – the – the lock on the Minister's door! He – he's in there, Fudge, and – and – and we're trying to get him out but –"

Pushing past him into the lift, the Doctor ignored him. "What floor's the Department of Mysteries on?"

"Ah – level nine, I think," the man said, shocked into coherency. "Drums. I hear drums!"

"Brilliant," the Doctor told him. "Thanks, mate!" He pounded at the button, flipping out his screwdriver. He could feel so, so many things, only one of which was the presence of his TARDIS. The others were – not good. Very much not good. If he had a companion right now, he would turn and warn them that things were about to become very, very dangerous indeed, but he… didn't. Time was becoming important again, and he pointed the screwdriver at the buttons. "Come on, come on."

The familiar click-whir helped settle him, as did the noticeable increase in the speed of the lift, which didn't appear to be confined to the normal up-and-down pattern.

Giving up on trying to puzzle this out, he bolted out of the lift the moment the doors opened.

The corridor that met him was not precisely as expected. For one, someone had fixed the lighting. But more to the point, it wasn't ostentatious, or morbid, or bizarre, or anything else he had been expecting from the Department of _Mysteries_ in the Ministry of _Magic_. In fact, it was rather boring.

Mildly disappointed, the Doctor ran down the hallway, to the sole black door at the far end. Thinking of something, he paused in front of the door, pulling out his screwdriver. Even from the far end of the corridor, it was easy to damage the gates to the lift, keeping anyone from following him down.

He could feel Time warping around him, around him and around someone else. But he could also feel it gloriously, gleefully warping around his TARDIS, and that mattered more than anything else at that point.

Pulling open the door, he stepped into a large, circular room, with a dozen black doors arranged around it. A young woman was sitting, shaking, with her back to one of the doors. Her hair was pink, for some reason. The Doctor decided he liked it.

Of far more import, though, was the man standing directly across from him, in the dead centre of the room.

He smiled, tucking his screwdriver away, and closing the door behind him. "You." He wasn't surprised, he'd been expecting to run into this man since the moment he woke up. Not necessarily _here_, though. Not so close to his TARDIS. She was behind one of these doors, he could tell, but he wasn't quite sure which one.

Yes, the other man looked different; yes, he'd changed; yes, it was a new face and a new body; but the warps in Time were too obvious to pretend otherwise. He knew precisely who was in front of him and knew, if not precisely, at least _most_ of what was going on.

"Me," the other said with a grin, sticking his hands in the pockets of his suit. "Long time, no see, Doctor."


	18. Bigger on the Inside, IV

**************************Doctor Who, Special Series; Episode 4: Bigger on the Inside**

**A/N: I'm writing this note on the night of October 30****th****, which puts me precisely 32 days behind you. How's the view? Anyway, as I'm writing this (to get it done before NaNo starts), this chapter is actually still in editing. Hopefully I'll get it done before November, otherwise there may still be a few plot-threads left hanging about. Oops.**

**Also, if there's anyone out there who's a Classic Who fan, I could really use some assistance with a later part of this. PM or review if interested.**

**Thanks to everyone who reviewed, favourited, and alerted.**

**Sonic Screwdriver Setting 42: These are really, really pointless.**

* * *

The Doctor sighed. "Hello, Master."

"I like it when you use my name," the other Time Lord replied with a grin.

Groaning, he ran a hand through his hair. "Oh, if we're just going to repeat that time, can't we skip to where I beat you?" He wasn't in the mood for this sparring that always happened. He just wanted to get his TARDIS back, to find some sort of stability and security that he had been so terribly lacking since the instant he woke up.

The Master cocked his head. "You always did have a penchant for the romantic. 'The Year that Never Was,' seriously?"

"They needed help processing it," the Doctor said promptly. How else were humans to deal with a year, three hundred and sixty five days in which they were tortured to the brink of insanity and back that no one else could remember? A year that, for all practical purposes, had never happened? He'd _had_ to give it some romantic title, something to help them categorize and deal with it.

Sneering, the Master snickered. "Oh yes, your _companions_. Where are they now, I wonder?" His voice was mocking, always a bad sign.

The Doctor raised his head, looking sadly at the other man. Visions of Rose and Martha and Donna flashed in front of his eyes. "You know where they are. You've been watching me."

The sneer turned into a full-on grin. "Of course. And you, dear Doctor, are _dreadfully_ behind on what I've been up to."

"I don't think I like this regeneration," the Doctor commented, ignoring the insult. Somehow this was how these conversations always went, between him and the Master: a carefully veiled dance of threats and allegations, right up until one of them went too far, and it turned into a _blatant_ display of threats and allegations.

The Master frowned. "Oh, that's too bad. _I_ like it. So much better than the last one. Less of a chance to go all…" He waved a hand. "Skeleton-y."

"Eloquent, aren't we?" The Doctor grinned at him.

_You know what? Fine. If you want to play this game again, we'll play the stupid game. Just don't expect to win this time, Master. Because I have no companions, no humans to care for, and you have pushed me one too many times._

"Pot and kettle, Doctor."

Nodding to acknowledge the point, the Doctor returned to the earlier topic. "You haven't changed much. Still brunette. And short," he added with a disparaging glance. It was so nice that this regeneration was reasonably tall, tall enough to look down on the other Time Lord.

The Master shrugged. "Now I'm one ahead of you. We'll have to fix that."

"Ah – I'd prefer not to. Besides, isn't the Corsair still at seven?" It was a calculated risk, bringing the third Time Lord into the conversation, but it had to be confronted at some point. The Master _had_ to know about the existence of another one here, the question was _what_ he knew, and what he was doing about it.

The grin returned full force. "Eight, actually. And I don't care about _him_. He's _boring_. You're much more fun to play with."

"Thanks," the Doctor said dryly. "You haven't managed to kill this body yet, despite all your attempts, so I'm fairly confident." He wasn't, actually, he was weaker than he'd ever been, and dying, and so totally without allies it was terrifying to even think about. But he had to pretend, had to keep up the pretences, had to dance with the Master and _win_ to protect everyone else on this planet.

The Master laughed. "You think I want to _kill_ you? No, no, no. I want to break you first. Take everything and everyone away from you like you did to me, turn you into a sobbing, hopeless _wreck_, make you _beg_ for death, and then – and _then_ I might – just might – be inclined to grant it. Or not. We'll see."

"Since you had such great success with that the last time you tried." The Doctor looked steadily at him. "If I recall right, _you_ were the one begging for death." It took every ounce of control to keep his fear and terror and pain from that year from bursting out. He _had_ to make the Master back down. There was too much resting on this – not the least of which being his TARDIS – for him to hold back from hurting the Master this time. Emotionally, at least, if not physically. A thought struck him, a way to poke holes in the Master's argument. "And who are you supposed to repopulate the Time Lords then?"

The Master smirked broadly, looking like nothing so much as a cat about to pounce. "The Corsair has been female before."

Instantly the Doctor's eyes narrowed as he flipped this idea over. "You wouldn't. No." He recoiled from the Master. "You _would_. Force the Corsair to regenerate into a female? That's - that's…" He shook his head, unable to process such a deep violation of the respect every Time Lord had for others. "You _bastard_."

The Master took a step backwards. "Such _anger_, Doctor. Such _hate_. I thought we were taught to put all of those emotions aside. Or have you forgotten that lesson as well?"

The Doctor casually raised one eyebrow. "Yes, and we were taught not to commit murder, something I see you've been doing _very_ well at."

"As have you," the Master replied sharply. "Don't think I don't know what happened. The Corsair told me. He's been_ very_ good at telling me things."

It was the Doctor's turn to take a step back. That _hurt_. The last possible betrayal from his last possible friend: to turn him over to the Master. It made sense, it made perfect sense, it explained how the Master knew everything, except… "Why would he? Why would he cooperate with _you_? Unless… no. His TARDIS?"

The Master smiled and nodded, silent for once.

"You're extracting information from him, and in return –"

"I won't hunt down that boat he likes to call a TARDIS," the Master said. "Not that I need it, anymore, but it's a nice lever to have."

The Doctor sighed, leaning against the wall. "Why are you here, Master? What do you want from here?" He'd guessed it, he could see the answer coming, he just hoped, oh dear gods he hoped so much that he was wrong.

The Master roared in laughter. "Haven't you guessed it yet? Your TARDIS. The last Type 40 TARDIS in existence, thanks to you."

Familiar agony swept through him, but he fought it down long enough to force out a painfully polite smile. "You're welcome." He paused. "What about the Corsair's?"

The Master grimaced. "A Type 70, useless. I prefer the classic models." Which, in Master-speak, meant he cared more about hurting the Doctor than getting away.

"So it's all a lie, then. You wouldn't really steal his TARDIS." The smile was not entirely feigned this time. It wasn't _nice_, but it was a real smile.

Shrugging, the Master said, "I would if I had to. But I see no need to share that with _him_, especially since I removed some of his thermo-couplings. If I can't fly it, neither can he."

The patterns were falling into place, explaining some of the oddities he'd seen in the preceding days. "But he doesn't know that either, because he's so scared of you finding it that he won't go anywhere near – him?" he asked, unsure of the gender. TARDISes were born female, but that didn't mean that they would always remain that way.

The Master nodded. "As I said – boring. Easy. But you – not boring. Complicated. Almost as much of a challenge as I am."

The Doctor frowned at this. "How could you _possibly_ fight yourself?" Avoid, misdirect, delay.

Waving an airy hand, the Master laughed. "A figure of speech, my dear Doctor. You are not quite at my level, but you are enough to entertain me for a while. And I do so need to be entertained."

"Are you asking me on a date?" The Doctor raised an eyebrow, starting to smile again. This was just so familiar, so normal it was hard to keep from amusement at the cycles his life took.

Evidently the Master recognized it too, because he also smiled. "I thought that was _my_ line."

"Wouldn't that be boring, doing the same thing over again?" Keep him talking, keep him occupied, keep him from paying attention to the quietly sobbing girl who was just staring to pull herself together, keep him from hearing the thudding footsteps above and the sounds of a battle gone wrong.

It was the Master's turn to acknowledge the point. "So here we are again."

The Doctor nodded. "Here we are again," he echoed. "Why?" he said suddenly, deciding that this farce had been going on long enough. Time for some answers. "Why are we here? What have you been up to?"

"Oh, Doctor, Doctor," the Master purred, "I left you enough hints. How hard would it have been to have picked up a newspaper?"

A nasty smirk slid onto the Doctor's face. "Hard enough when your police forces are out for my blood." It was a dangerous game he was playing, but it was so _addicting_ riding the edge of a maelstrom.

The Master gave him a sharp look. "And when you were sitting at the Burrow yesterday? Or wandering around Diagon Ally? Come on, Doctor, play the game properly."

"Very well," the Doctor said, letting a little of the pride slip out of his shoulders to give the image of defeat. "Why would a paper have helped?"

The look he got meant that the Master thought he was being irredeemably stupid. "Why? _Why?_ Oh, Doctor, I thought you were smarter than this. Why would a paper have helped? Because _I'm_ in there, that's why!" For the first time since the Doctor entered the room, he broke eye contact, turning to face the crying girl. "Nymphadora Tonks."

"Don't call me that," she said, but it sounded like it was born out of force of habit rather than any real hatred of what he was saying. She sounded broken, defeated, and he wondered what the Master had done to her before he had shown up.

The Master chuckled. "So stubbornly _moronic_. Nymphadora Tonks, do you know who I am?"

It took the Doctor a moment to figure out how this could possibly be relevant. The epiphany, when it came, felt like a landslide.

_Oh. Of course. The persona he adopted to conceal himself here. That's what he's been using to manipulate me._

Nymphadora sniffled and nodded. "Yes. You – you're Alexander Constantine. A _Muggle_."

The Master chuckled, drawing a wand from his suit pocket and twirling it. "Now, Nymphadora, what would your grandparents say if they heard you speaking of Muggles like that?" He smirked nastily. "And who is Alexander Constantine, Nymphadora?"

She flinched, trying to curl further into the wall. "Prime Minister," she said faintly.

The Doctor raised an eyebrow. "Not Harold Saxon this time?" He had to shove back and bury the memories of that awful year, but they did not show on his face. He would not let them.

This laugh was real, or as real as the Master ever got with him. "No. I figured it was time for something a little more powerful. Harold Saxon – warrior and swordsman, fine. But the Saxons lost. Alexander Constantine. Much better, don't you think?"

"I prefer John Smith," the Doctor said quickly. He knew the significance of both those names – Alexander, who had led a struggling country to victory against a thousand opponents, and Constantine, who had turned a fledgling religion into the most powerful force the world had ever known – but he was trying to ignore it.

The Master sneered. "You always had poor choice in names."

The Doctor grinned at him. "Psychiatrist's wet-dream."

Ignoring this, the Master swept his wand quickly over himself. "But why limit myself to one persona when two would be so much more productive?" His appearance changed in a ripple of magic, brown hair darkening to black and growing out, face lengthening, height increasing slightly, eyes shading to a darker brown. And -

"A goatee? Honestly, I thought we were done with that." The Doctor found the Master's predilection to beards amusing, mostly because it made him look like a bad villain from a B-movie.

The Master pulled a face. "It was easiest to base it off one of my former regenerations. So, Nymphadora, do you recognize this face as well?"

The girl flinched again, whimpering quietly. "No no no no. It's not possible. No no no no. Not this too." Her voice trailed away into quiet sobs as she tucked her head into folded arms.

The glare the Doctor gave the Master was _deadly_. Proceeding to ignore the other Time Lord, he crossed the room to the girl, bending down beside her. "So, Nymphadora Tonks," he said quietly, "what _do_ you want to be called?"

"Jus' Tonks, please," she whispered back. "Don' like my firs' name." She sounded like Rose, the same accent at least, and it ripped and pulled at his hearts.

The Doctor nodded in sympathy. "I understand." Kneeling in front of her, he reached out for her face. "Now, Tonks, I need you to be brave for me." He brushed the tears away from her eyes. "Who is this man?"

She whimpered and tried to turn away again but his hands against her cheekbones were too strong. "Pius Thicknesse. Head of the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. T-tipped to be next Minister for Magic."

Standing up, the Doctor turned to face the Master again. "Clever," he bit out. "Very clever. Taking control of both worlds – most impressive." Given the choice right now, he wasn't entirely sure that the Master wouldn't die. He wasn't usually this out-of-control, but he had no one to tell him when to stop. He saw no _reason_ to stop. The Master had gone far enough, and he wasn't the last of the Time Lords any more. There was always the Corsair.

The Master either did not hear or completely ignored the censure in his voice. A quick wave of his wand restored his original appearance. "I know, right? And then when you came back, I had to go impersonate the head of the Aberdeen Police Force. Very boring. I'll make you pay for that," he said off-hand, which was almost worse than when he was being out-right threatening. "But I couldn't afford to have you wandering free. Particularly not with those companions you were picking up. What were their names? Matthew and Jake?"

The Doctor snarled. "Mark and James. And they did not deserve to die." They didn't, they hadn't, it had been his fault, if they hadn't been with him they would still be alive, he should never have tried hitchhiking, it never was going to turn out well, he should have just walked to where ever he needed to go –

"They were with you. They could not live." The Master gave him a steady glare. "You'd told them too much. If you hadn't told them who you were – I bugged the car, Doctor, after one of mine heard you talking in the restaurant. Come on, would it be so difficult for you to show some intelligence? If you hadn't told them who you were, they wouldn't have had to die. Which makes it your fault again."

He flinched, revealing far more of his pain than he ever, _ever_ wanted to reveal to someone like the Master, but he couldn't keep it in. Jerking backward, his mouth convulsed around words that refused to come out. His fault. Of course it was his fault. All of the dead, all of the victims, all of the lives cut short because of _him_, because of _his_ stupid arrogance, because he couldn't stay out of it, couldn't stay uninvolved, couldn't stay away from all the dramas of all the little planets. Struggling to keep the self-hatred in, he leaned against the wall.

"He's lying!" Slowly, Tonks stood up, still pale and shaking, but pointing determinedly at the Master. "You don't – it's not your fault. It can't be. It's the fault of the ones who did the killing, and the ones who ordered the killing. Not your fault. Never your fault for not doing enough. At least you tried."

_First Margaret, then Arthur, now Tonks. How many people need to tell you something before you get your head out of your arse and _listen_? All you're doing right now is defeating yourself. The Master doesn't even need to do anything; you'll let him win because you're so damn preoccupied with blaming yourself to stop him._

Straightening up, he fixed the Master with a steely glare. "Thank you, Tonks," he said amiably. "I needed that. Now, Master, we were talking about how you murdered my friends. Separating me from my companions. Never a good position to be in."

The Master sneered at him. "You? You're powerless. Time, I think, to demonstrate precisely _how_ powerless." An utterly ruthless smile crossed his face. "_Crucio._"

Tonks _screamed_, something terrible and heart-breaking in the sheer amount of pain she managed to convey through that one noise. Still crying, she jerked in pain, collapsing to the floor in the manner of a puppet thrown carelessly away.

"Stop it!" The Doctor ran forward, knocking into the Master's arm. "Leave her be!"

The Master lowered his wand, ending the curse. "Why?" He laughed. "I think I'll keep this," he said, twirling the wand. "Did you know you can kill someone with just two words and this?" He grinned maniacally, turning to face the Doctor. "Not that it's much harder to kill humans at home, but still..." He shook his head. "I'll make a deal with you, Doctor. But I hold all the power here."

The Doctor grabbed his wand hand. "Don't. Just – don't. If you want anything from me – don't."

Laughing again, the Master stepped back, jerking his hand free. "It's so _easy_ to manipulate you when you _care_. One wonders why you still do."

The Doctor snarled at him, but didn't bother to deny it. They both knew it was true. He would never willingly let anyone be hurt or die in his presence, and it made it easy for his opponents to trap him. "What do you want?" he said finally, resigned to – to something.

"Your TARDIS is behind one of these doors," the Master said, smirking.

Gulping, the Doctor nodded. He knew where this was going and he didn't like either of the options. "Yes."

Shoving the Doctor out of the way, the Master grabbed Tonks' arm, pulling her close to him. Wand out, he pressed it into her skull. "Give me the TARDIS key or I kill her."

No, he definitely didn't like either option. "Negotiations aren't possible, I take it?" He had to try, he had to keep trying, because the idea of the Master with his TARDIS was horribly, terribly _wrong_, but the idea of letting Tonks die for him was _worse_.

One arm around Tonks' chest, the other keeping the wand firmly pressed to her head, the Master sneered. "Make a choice, Doctor. You can keep your TARDIS or you can keep the girl."


	19. Bigger on the Inside, V

**Doctor Who, Special Series; Episode 4: Bigger on the Inside**

**A/N: November is over! Whoot! I hit 100K, which is disturbing and amazing at the same time. I'm in the middle of getting this off the ground again (At the end of November, I was only one chapter ahead of you lot; I like a nice safe six or seven instead), then I've got a one-shot to do for I Worship Steven Moffatt, then a couple more running around in my head, and then at some point I've got to go rework **_**Serpent's Tears.**_** Whee. **

**Once again, if anyone has actually **_**seen**_** any Classic Who, I could really use some input. I'm working on watching the older episodes, but there's no way I'll have seen enough by that point in this fic. (No, I'm not going to explain why.)**

**Thanks to: JoojooBrother, okami34, FlyingLovegood123, Zhor, hogwartsharpist, Paul, LilyLunaPotter142, Epic Emma 2017, quoththeraven5, iwright, , PersonBehindScreen, Kudo Shinichi Tanteisan, ResistingSimplicity, Eclipse, Ashlee Pond, Idoloni, FaeBreeze, HotChocolate in Summer, lumosriver144, TaliaJennings13, Kitsune-242, Ptroxsora, Torkidog, I Worship Steven Moffatt, ironyheartsap, HarryPotterForLife7, Amron, and Guest.**

**To those of you who have been reading but not reviewing: I love you, but not nearly as much as I love my reviewers. If you review, I will love you lots and lots. If you don't, I only love you a little bit. :D**

* * *

For a disturbingly long moment he thought about it. They stood there, the three of them, the Doctor facing the Master, a pale and shaking Tonks in between them.

_If I don't do this, she _will _die. But I will keep my TARDIS key, and I know where she is now, even if I do have to run first._

_Are you seriously considering letting her _die_? _another voice said. _No. That is not who you are. Give him the key and save her. You can work out how to get the TARDIS back later._

_If I give him the key, he'll use my TARDIS like before. Maybe not a paradox machine this time, but it'll allow him to leave here and return home, and I'll be stuck._

_Right, but everyone will be alive, at least to start. And you can undo a paradox machine and most of the other things he could do with your TARDIS._

_I'll be stuck! I don't wanna be stuck, not here! … But at least I'll have saved Tonks._

_No you won't. She'll still be dead. You know this. You give him the key, he gets into your TARDIS, he kills Tonks and takes you captive. That is how he works! That's what will happen._

_Are you arguing for giving him the key or against it?_

_I'm the rational part of your mind. No one said I had to be consistent._

_Take a third option_, a new voice put in. _Do something unexpected_.

Unexpected. He could do something unexpected. Face still and hard, he reached up slowly, fingers rapidly untying the string his TARDIS key was on. He threw it to the Master silently, nothing but condemnation in his eyes. He wouldn't let anything else through.

Grinning broadly, the Master clutched it tightly, releasing Tonks. "Look how easy it was, Doctor. All I had to do was threaten a human. _Any_ human! You don't even know this one!" He held the key up to his eyes, examining it closely.

"Tonks," the Doctor snapped. "Get behind me."

She hesitated, trembling. Wide panicked eyes flicked between the two Time Lords.

"Now!"

She broke and ran towards him, skidding to a halt with him between her and the Master. Breathing hard, she leaned against the wall.

_Good. Now for the next bit._

The Master had moved on from staring at the key and was examining each door in turn, searching for the one the TARDIS hid behind.

That was the moment the Doctor was waiting for. Unlike the Master, he knew precisely where his TARDIS was. He didn't need to waste any time looking for her, she sang in his mind, rejoicing at having her thief so close again.

In one motion, the Doctor pulled out his wand and pointed it unerringly at one door, one single, specific door, clicking it on. The blue light shone across the room, the whirring noise unimaginably loud in the dense silence. And –

_It worked. I didn't have to – it _worked_!_

The lock on the door dissolved and reformed, now a blank metal disk with no keyhole visible.

The Master understood instantly what it meant. "You _bastard!_ Undo it! Undo it now!"

"No." The Doctor grinned. If he had the TARDIS key – him and him only – he could call the TARDIS to him, because he was hers and she was his, forever and always, connected on a deeper level than even a parent and child. But the Master couldn't do that. And what he had done to the lock on the TARDIS door wasn't fixable from the outside, only from the inside. Not to mention that now nothing, not even a sonic screwdriver – or the Master's laser screwdriver – could get that door open from the outside.

The Master lunged towards him. "I'll kill her! I swear I will! Get that door open!"

Clamping down on the instinctive fear – he hadn't come away from the Year That Never Was as unscathed as he liked to pretend – the Doctor smiled icily. "No," he said again. "I won't let you."

"You can't stop me," the Master said, calming himself. "You have no way of stopping me." Face completely still again, he raised his wand. "_Avada –_"

_Click-whir_.

No, the sonic screwdriver didn't work on wood. It did work just fine, however, on the dragon heartstring contained _within_ the wood, burning it instantly.

Smirking, the Doctor looked at the other Time Lord. "Anything else you'd like to try? Or can we go now?"

Dropping his now-useless wand, the Master raised one hand, facing palm-out at the Doctor. "Yes, actually," he hissed, tone murderous. "It still uses artron energy, but with a TARDIS so near, I don't think I need to worry about that right now."

Even if the Doctor had had time to duck, he wouldn't have. Tonks was standing behind him, and she wouldn't survive this.

The bolt of jagged blue light struck him square in the chest, knocking him backwards into Tonks. Searing pain erupted through him, burning along his nerves, carving out pathways he didn't know he had. The electricity sizzled across his chest, shorting out one heart and accelerating the other. He gasped, biting his tongue hard enough to bleed to keep from crying out. Collapsing to his knees, he crossed his arms across his chest, trying desperately to maintain consciousness.

"I've gotten stronger, Doctor," the Master purred. "Have you noticed that yet? Or do I need to demonstrate again?"

He whimpered, waiting for his left heart to start up again, to cease the pain currently coming from his right one. But it wouldn't, it wasn't, and oh dear Gallifrey it _hurt_! Shoving the pain back under – he couldn't block off the nerves, not to his _hearts_ – he looked up. "It's over, Master. You've lost."

"_No!_" The Master flung a second bolt of light that shied off sideways, striking a door. "You can't! It was my turn! You won last time, it was my turn this time!"

Gasping, the Doctor forced himself to his feet. "They're louder now, aren't they? The drums. They're louder every time you get angry, every time you're defeated. Every time you're close to me."

The Master stepped back, crumpling inwards. "Yes," he said, sounding more defeated now than at any other time. "They're here, the drums. Always. But you're right," he looked up at the Doctor, "they're louder when you're here. They react to you."

"Of course they do," the Doctor replied, feeling rather defeated himself. "They're tied to me. Rassilon wouldn't have set it up any other way. They get louder the closer you get to me, trying to push you over the edge enough to bring them back."

Something caught fire in the Master's eyes. "So if I kill you – they'll stop?"

There was something so, so wrong with that. It burned in his heart, listening to the Master sound so hopeful about _death_. "No. I'm sorry. They're never going to stop. I'm so, so sorry."

"Shut up!" A third bolt of light flew out of the Master's hands, striking the Doctor in the chest.

Seizing up, the Doctor collapsed to his knees again. Both hearts were dead. He could feel the pain radiating out from his chest. He was running out of time, couldn't hear couldn't feel couldn't think…

The fourth bolt of light hit in precisely the same place as the third but was slightly weaker. It was the only thing that saved him.

Pain came with the light, but it was a form of electricity, albeit bastardized and corrupted. He could feel the pacemaker cells in his hearts start and catch, feel the moment his hearts started again, beating lopsided at first, and then in sync, the four-beat rhythm of Time Lords. He wondered, in the midst of the pain, if that was the origin of the Master's drumbeat.

"Leave him alone!"

His hearts thudded louder at that voice.

_No, Tonks, don't. He's forgotten about you. Don't draw his attention back to you now, please!_

"Why?" the Master asked coldly, calmly, cruelly. "Tell me why you care, human. He is the cause of your pain, after all. Were it not for him, I would not have come here tonight."

Tonks snarled, "Because it's the right thing to do. It's not his fault, it's yours, for hurting him. You hurt him, and you hurt me, but he hasn't hurt me, not once, so I don't see how it could possibly be his fault."

The Master laughed. "Have you looked at the man who is _saving_ you? That man is Barty Crouch Jr, the same man who tortured the Aurors Longbottom into insanity in front of their year old son."

He wanted to leap up, wanted to deny it, but it hurt too much, the pain from his chest, and the pain in his head: what if the Master was right? What if that was in the empty space in his head? What if he had been so, so far gone that he had?

"Yes," Tonks said calmly. "I looked at him, and I recognized him, and I decided it didn't matter. Barty Crouch wouldn't have talked to you like that, no matter what you looked like."

The Doctor's jaw dropped. Of all the possible reactions, he'd never considered this one. That she would whole-heartedly _endorse_ him – who would endorse _him?_ He wasn't that good, he didn't matter that much, why _him_?

The Master was having much the same reaction. "Give me one good reason, Nymphadora, for you to live. If you are his, I see no reason for you to still be alive."

Behind him, Tonks tensed, breath catching. "There is none," she said, a tremor in her voice.

The Doctor shoved himself off the floor, placing himself between the Master and Tonks once again. "This has gone far enough, Master. We're done now. Tonks? Which door leads out?"

Tonks swallowed audibly. "I – I'm not sure. They spin and change when you're not looking."

"Much like angels," the Doctor muttered.

The Master let out a delighted laugh, switching emotions easily. "Oh, they survived the war? I thought all the quantum creatures died in the first charge."

The Doctor briefly returned his attention to the Master. "Yes." Spinning back to Tonks, he frowned. "It's not that one," he said, pointing at the one his TARDIS was behind, "which leaves only eleven."

She smiled shakily. "Do you ever stop?"

"Hm?" he asked, trying to calculate which door led out. "Oh. No."

The Master walked forward, touching a hand to the Doctor's chest. "Give me a reason."

The Doctor met his eyes unblinkingly. "At this range? It'll kill me."

"You'll regenerate," the Master said carelessly. "And it'll make me feel _so_ much better. You'd almost be amusing again."

The Doctor tried to back up only to be followed by the Master. "You wouldn't get to look at this face anymore?"

The Master laughed. "Flirting again, Doctor? That won't work on me. Give me a reason."

He didn't have one. The Doctor looked sadly into the other's eyes and could not see a way out. In a second, in an instant the pain would be flooding his system and he'd die again, always, forever. He'd be dead for a moment before the regeneration kicked in, and it would be the most horrible endless moment he'd ever been through.

One of the doors burst open as a blond-haired wizard burst through it. "Pius! We're leaving now!"

The Master jerked back and away, a stern glare to the Doctor warning him to keep his mouth shut. "Lucius. I'm busy, as you can see."

The blond gave a cursory glance to the other two. "Fine. The Dark Lord called a retreat. We lost Augustus."

"Don't worry, Doctor," the Master said quietly. "You'll still die here. Lucius will even help me, won't you, Lucius?"

Lucius looked at the Doctor for a brief moment before turning his full attention on the Master. "No. He's not ready, Pius. I don't care how much you hate them, two dead bodies where the battle didn't reach sends an unmistakable message. We _cannot_ let the Ministry know what we're after."

The Master rolled his eyes. "I hate working with lunatics," he told the Doctor conversationally. "It makes things so much slower."

"Funny," the Doctor replied in the same tone of voice. "I'd think you'd feel right at home."

Lips quirking in a smile, the Master nodded. He pocketed the TARDIS key and his broken wand before turning to Lucius. "Well then. Shall we go survey the destruction and pretend we had nothing to do with it?"

Looking as if he'd like nothing better than to curse the Master senseless, Lucius sighed. "Pius, do _try_ to act like you place some value on your life and refrain from insulting the Dark Lord in front of me. Now let's _go_." He spun, robes flying, and left via the same door he'd come in.

The Master laughed, gave one last deadly glance at the Doctor and followed.

"Well," the Doctor said into the silence, collapsing to the floor. "That explains a lot." His brain was shattered, thoughts running in tiny cramped circles. He remained there, kneeling and hunched over. He didn't think he could move.

A hand touched his shoulder and he snapped, turning on her, knocking her to the ground. Shocked and scared, he stood up, backing away from Tonks. "I – I'm sorry. Just – I need a minute." He was shaking, trying to get it under control again.

She looked at him, hair flashing brown and then pink. "Yeah, I can see that."

"_Gods!_" The Doctor ran a hand through his hair, watching his arm tremble. He was in shock. He'd have to tell Tonks to make sure his seizures didn't damage his wings. No. Wait. That was what happened when Za'coth went into shock. Why was he thinking about the Za'coth now? What had – oh. The Za'coth had died in the Time War. Both he and the Master had been present for that battle, he on the side of the Time Lords, and the Master – not. And everything had gone straight to hell in that battle, everything he had done had gone wrong, horribly wrong until all he wanted was to loop time and fix it, except that Time was already too warped to be able to contain another paradox.

He sighed. "We should get out of here."

Tonks nodded, not moving. "He – he took my wand. I – how can we get out?"

The Doctor frowned down at her. "The – the – oh, blast it. Them," he waved a hand. Stupid humans and their stupid organizations. It wasn't UNIT, it wasn't Torchwood, it wasn't the PM, or Pete's group, or – "Order of the Phoenix," he came out with finally. "They're up there. We can hitch a ride from someone. Or whatever it is you wizards do."

She blinked at him, confused. "I – I – Oh, _Merlin._" Covering her face in her hands, she began to tremble.

Now _he_ was confused. Humans. Oh. This was their form of shock, wasn't it? Sighing, he walked over to her and helped her up. "Let's get out of here. Go find some friends. Do you have a house? Where do you live?"

Sniffling, she let him guide her to a door. "A – a flat. In London. I've got a flat. But – but – Mum and Dad. They'll be worried. They know –"

He nodded, picking a door at random. "Then we'll go to them." Spinning her to face him, he grinned. "Perk up, Tonks. I won't let anything happen. I promise." Still grinning, he led her through the door.

* * *

_Next time on Doctor Who – Episode 5: The Memories of the End._

"_But _me_? I could do so much more! _So! much! more!_ But this is what I get. My reward. Well, it's not _fair_!"_

…

"_Aren't I done with you yet?"_

"_Nope! You're never going to be rid of me, Doctor."_

…

"_No. _Please._ Please. Anything. What – anything."_

"_I told you what I want. Leave. Don't return. I'll follow. What don't you get?"_

…

"_I really am busy."_

"_I know – I – I'm dying."_

"_What! No – just hold on a minute, I just burnt the eggs."_

…

"_If you regenerate now –"_

"_He'll catch up. And if he catches me –"_

"_Who knows what will happen."_

"_Nothing good."_

"_Agreed."_

…

"_Get a companion. You're dangerous alone."_

"_I'm dangerous to them."_

"_Danger to one person or danger to whole planets. Take your pick."_


	20. The Memories of the End, I

******************Doctor Who, Special Series; Episode 5: The Memories of the End********************  
**

**A/N: Once again, any help with Classic Who would be greatly appreciated.**

**I've been getting some of the same questions over and over, so I thought I'd just try to fix that now. Yes, Harry will be appearing. Yes, the TARDIS will be appearing. Yes, other HP characters will be appearing. No, not quite yet. Yes, Voldemort will be coming back. Yes, I am dealing with the apparent contradictions between the Doctor having been through "The End of Time" and him still being in his Tenth body. No, I will not stop it with the cliffhangers. Since you lot review more when I leave cliffies, I see no reason to.**

**Thanks to: Bplus and proud, FlyingLovegood123, Epic Emma 2017, PersonBehindScreen, Ptroxsora, and LilyLunaPotter142.**

**200****th**** reviewer gets a one-shot! People who promote this will be rewarded with cyber cookies and hugs. Love you all!**

* * *

They had found a man called Kingsley Shacklebolt, who had been perfectly willing to Apparate Tonks and – after some explanation and a demonstration of the sonic screwdriver – the Doctor to Tonks' parents. He had then been introduced to Ted and Andromeda Tonks – who came _up_ with these names? They didn't seem to match at all – and finally been shown to the spare bedroom while they comforted their daughter.

It was all very polite and awkward. No one paid much attention to him, focusing far more on Tonks – who needed it more – and leaving him to his own devices. All of which left him sitting on a plain bed, crossing and uncrossing his legs, and trying not to think about sleep.

Normally he wouldn't need to sleep again so soon. But, bored and with nothing to do, it really seemed the best way to keep himself from resorting to self-harm. Except that he couldn't sleep. If he slept – Time Lords didn't have nightmares. Time Lords didn't dream at all, usually. When they did, their dreams had a tendency to turn into reality. That was why they learned how to stop the dreams.

He flopped restlessly back onto the bed. He could stop the dreams – but he knew the price for that. Memories. The most recent and most powerful memories, played over again with the detail that only a Time Lord could recall.

But if he didn't sleep, he – he could do anything, in this state. And the memories were so close to the surface anyway, it couldn't hurt. Well, it could, but not sleeping would hurt more.

Vaguely aware that his thoughts were becoming dangerously incoherent, the Doctor closed his eyes and allowed his body to relax into sleep.

* * *

The light hurt. That was his only conscious thought. The light hurt. There were other things that he should be thinking about, but there was only one that mattered: The room, the planet, the universe, was bathed in a burning white light, and it hurt his eyes.

By the time he could open them again, he was sprawled on the floor, covered in pieces of broken glass. "I'm alive." It took him a moment to remember why this was surprising. Breathing hard, he began to raise himself off the floor. "I'm still alive." He laughed, shakily. He shouldn't have been. He should have been sucked back into the Time War, with every other Time Lord. He should have died, for real this time. His laugher straddled the fine line with sobbing, so close even he couldn't tell which it was.

Someone knocked four times.

An irrelevant part of his mind noted that it was on glass, vertical glass, that it was hesitant, that whoever was doing it wasn't putting their full weight behind it.

A much larger portion proceeded to panic. Four knocks. He was going to die. Again. And not regenerate. Or maybe he would, he couldn't tell yet. But either way, this mind, this consciousness, this way of thinking would be dead. Forever.

They did it again, a slight hesitation after the first knock, a slight accent on the last.

He could feel his heart rates accelerating.

Again, more insistently. The rattle and static of malfunctioning electric appliances. And one last time, the four knocks, as he stood up and turned to look at Wilfred, trapped in the radiation booth.

Wilfred waved at him. "They gone then?" He sounded scared, and trying to deny it. "Yeah, good-o. If you could, uh, let me out?"

The Doctor stared at him, trying to figure out what Imp of the Perverse had decided that he would sacrifice one of his few remaining lives to save an old human. "Yeah." He had to say it. It was going to happen regardless, his refusal to acknowledge it wouldn't help anything.

"Only, this thing seems to be making a bit of a noise," Wilfred said, his voice escalating. Scared then, and doing his very best not to panic. The Doctor sympathized.

Standing up, he said, "The Master," and he wondered where the other had gone, it was so unlike him to miss a chance to gloat, "left the nuclear bolt running. Gone into overload."

Wilfred plainly didn't really understand what this meant. "And that's bad, is it?"

_Yes, very very irredeemably bad, because I'm gonna _die_, and you, you stupid swot, your damn compassion is going to kill me!_

He didn't let any of this come out, trying to keep his voice light. "No, 'cause all the excess radiation gets vented inside there." He nodded at the booth.

Wilfred looked around him, growing steadily more upset.

"Vinvocci glass contains it," the Doctor continued, searching for a distraction. "All five hundred thousand rads about to flood that thing." He couldn't quite make it work, couldn't continue to be chipper. He wondered, vaguely, if this meant he was going to cry. He didn't want to cry, not now.

"Oh," Wilfred said, looking sick. He chuckled half-heartedly. "Well, you better let me out then."

The Doctor nodded slightly, sadly, knowing what he had to do, and not quite wanting to reveal that one of them would die here, now. "'Cept it's gone critical." He paused for a long minute. "Touch one control and it floods." Pulling out the screwdriver, he flicked it out rapidly, looking at the stupid useless thing. "Even this would set it off."

Wilfred breathed out quietly, looking back at him. "I'm sorry."

Not quite trusting himself to speak, the Doctor whispered something that might have been _sure_, and turned away. Too many emotions, too close to the surface. He tucked the screwdriver back away.

"Look, just leave me," Wilfred said, clearly steeling himself to die.

_Yes!_ one part of his mind crowed as he looked down. _He gave you permission! Go now, before he takes it back!_

The rest fought it down, but it was a slow fight. And in the meantime, words pressed at the Doctor's mouth, pouring out, a stream of hatred and fear and despair.

"Okay, right then, I will," he said with a bitter smile, looking back at Wilfred and then quickly away."'Cause you _had_ to go in there, didn't you." He couldn't figure out if he wanted to scream or cry and settled for doing something somewhere in between, beginning to pace. "You _had_ to go and get stuck, _oh_ yes!" Once the words were out, it was easy to continue. He knew the decision he was going to make, knew what was going to happen, but it felt good to give vent to all of his anger and frustration and fear for once. "'Cause that's who you are, Wilfred," he said, voice breaking, standing still but head still moving restlessly. "You were always this, waiting for me, all this time." He looked down, unwilling to show how broken he was. He didn't want to die, he didn't want to move on, no matter how selfish that was, it would still mean a destruction of his mind and body that he was afraid of on some deep unconscious level.

Looking very uncomfortable, Wilfred shifted from side to side. "No, really, just leave me. I'm an old man, Doctor, I've had my time."

_Damn him, why did he have to bring _that _up? He can't be more than, what? Eighty? And me – even when I _lie_, I'm still over nine hundred. Who's had a full life now, eh?_

Hatred, mostly directed at himself, burst out of him in the form of invective. "Well exactly! Look at you. Not remotely important," he spat, head turned dismissively.

Wilfred had the intelligence to look offended. Bitter, the Doctor pondered why he hadn't had the intelligence to stay out of the death trap in the first place, then dismissed the thought.

"But _me?_ I could do so much more," he yelled, beginning to move again. "_So much more!"_ He screamed this at the ceiling, hands thudding on his chest, willing the universe to change this for him. He was going to die here unless he got unbelievably lucky and he hated it. "But this is what I get," he said more quietly, leaning on a table. "My reward. Well, it's not _fair!"_ His hands lashed out, knocking papers and decorations to the floor with a clatter. Tears burned behind his eyes and he had to fight them down again.

The room was silent except for the Doctor's heavy breathing as he resigned himself. Each breath rasped as it hissed in and out of his mouth. He shouldn't have said that. It never should have been in his head, let alone left his mouth. Never. He had another three lives left, three more than this human had, even if it was less than he would like. He sighed, staring at Wilfred. "Lived too long," he said quietly, walking towards the empty half of the radiation booth.

Wilfred's eyes widened as he belatedly realized what decision the Doctor had reached. "No. No, no, please," he said, first quietly, then louder. "Please, don't. No, don't! Don't!"

_Why? Why does he care so much? It's not like I deserve to live, I told him that. He does, though, Wilfred Mott. He most definitely does._

"Please don't!" Wilfred burst out, voice cracking as the Doctor opened the door to the other side. "_Please!"_

Holding the door open, the Doctor gave him a steady look. "Wilfred," he said calmly, resigned to his fate. Whatever that may be. "It's my honour." He didn't care if Wilfred never believed him, it was still the absolute truth. "Better be quick." He swung into the booth, closing the door behind him. "Three, two, one…" He hit the button.

Wilfred, deciding that survival was the better option, dashed out.

The Doctor didn't care at that point. The act of pushing the button had destabilized the nuclear bolt and flooded the chamber. Five hundred thousand rads hit his body, trying to alter his genetic coding, change his molecular structure, modify him past the point of survivability.

He'd played with Roentgen cubes as a child, on the level of a hundred or so rads. With Martha, that first day, he'd absorbed over a thousand in defeating the Slab. That had been uncomfortable to hold and expel, but not particularly difficult.

This was five hundred times that amount. He clenched every muscle in his body, trying not to cry out, trying not to let it have free reign. He almost failed. It burned, it tore, it bit its way through his body, attacking everything it found. And he could feel it all, he could feel every cell in his body crying out in pain all at once. But he couldn't let it win. Whatever it was – pride, hope, or stubbornness – some spark of something in him wouldn't let him give up. Even if the odds were against him, they had been a thousand times before, and only prophecy made this one any different. And since when had _he_ listened to prophecy?

He jerked, bracing himself against the wall, falling to his knees. He tried to stand up and the radiation attacked again. Eventually he collapsed on the floor, huddled in a ball, waiting for the pain to pass.

The power shut down.


	21. The Memories of the End, II

**Doctor Who, Special Series; Episode 5: The Memories of the End**

**A/N: Hello everyone! Is there a reason I got so few reviews last chapter? Please, let me know if I'm doing something wrong. I won't attack you, promise!**

**Once again, any Classic Who fans out there willing to help me with something?**

**OMG CHRISTMAS SPECIAL SOON PREVIEWS LOOK AMAZING *squee* Anyway...**

**Thanks to: Paul, FlyingLovegood123, Ptroxsora, LilyLunaPotter142, and WisdomChild15.**

* * *

Breathing slowly, he unclenched one hand from his hair.

Wilfred gasped. "What?"

The Doctor ignored him, sitting up. Everything hurt. He swore that the ends of his hair hurt, except that, at this point, his pain centres were overloaded and on the point of shutting down. He almost wished they would, just to give him a break.

"Hello," Wilfred said timidly. No surprise there: there was no way a human could have survived that, not with the amount of radiation he had just taken.

Bracing himself against the floor, the Doctor looked out. "Hi."

"Still with us?"

The pain receding, the Doctor stood. "The system's dead." He wasn't going to answer that question. Five hundred thousand rads were still bouncing about his body. Just because he was alive now didn't mean he was going to make it another day. He didn't mention this though, holding on desperately to his last remaining option: that he could get to the TARDIS and expel it into a safe place. "I absorbed it all. Whole thing's kaput." Pressing lightly against the door, he watched it swing outward in disgust. "Oh. Now it opens, yeah." He stepped gingerly out, containing his winces. The brush of fabric against his skin hurt. Placing weight on his feet hurt. Hell, opening his _eyes_ hurt.

Wilfred shifted his weight. "Well, 'ere we are then. Safe and sound."

The Doctor didn't bother correcting this misapprehension. If it all worked out, Wilfred would never have to know just how close he came to death – and if it didn't, it wouldn't matter anyway. He had to swallow heavily to keep from vomiting: one of the first symptoms of radiation poisoning was nausea. He just hoped he could get back to the TARDIS before the diarrhoea started.

"Mind you, you're in a hell of a state. You've got some battle scars there." Wilfred gestured at his face.

He groaned, wiping his hands over his face. Everything hurt so much he had forgotten about the damage the glass had done. Energy sparked and sizzled off his skin cells, sending spikes of pain racing through him – but as it went, it left new, unblemished skin in its wake. He couldn't tell if he was just healing faster than normal due to the radioactive energy currently playing havoc with his cells, or if he was actually on the verge of regenerating – either way, the process still hurt more than anything else, which was really saying something at that point.

Wilfred stared at him in shock. "But then… Your face – How did you do that?" This last came out in a whisper.

The Doctor looked at his hands, turning them over. Regeneration was itself a form of radiation, and sometimes – this time – it was hard to tell the difference. But maybe – He swore inwardly, staring at the delicate veins of gold underneath his skin. "It's started," he said hoarsely. Regeneration – burden and boon. If he could just – plans formed and changed and reformed behind his eyes, nothing of this frantic thought making it out to his face.

Gasping, Wilfred walked forward and hugged him, crying into his chest, unheeding of the radiation. He didn't need to worry, the Doctor thought absently, there wasn't any radiation left to affect humans. Just him.

He stumbled back to his TARDIS, calling her back into sync with the rest of the universe. They connected, ignoring Wilfred, and he began setting the coordinates to take the man back home. His TARDIS muttered in the back of his mind. She thought he should just regenerate and get it over with. He ignored that too. He had gone through ten regenerations in just over a thousand years when _four_ regenerations should have lasted him a millennium or more. And when he ran out, when he finally reached the end, there would be no one left to protect the universe. His death would mean the end. He couldn't afford to regenerate, not if there was any hope, any way out.

He'd thought of such a way by the time he landed the TARDIS outside Donna's house – it would always be _Donna's_ house to him, never Wilfred's. But it was dangerous and complex and he needed to be alone. Dropping off Wilfred, he ignored the man's protests.

Throwing the TARDIS back into the Time Vortex, he reached a conclusion. He had to act like he was going to die. If the plan worked, all would be well. If it didn't – the radiation would rebound on him and the odds of survival, in any form, dropped to near zero.

So – what did he have left to do before he died? Somehow the answer was easier than he'd thought. He saved Martha and Mickey from an insane Sontaran. Pulled Luke out of the way of a car – he couldn't bear to talk with Sarah Jane, it would hurt too much. Set Jack up on a date – it wouldn't last, it never lasted, but it was the least he could do. He saw everyone: Jo Grant, and the Brigadier, and the great-granddaughter of Joan Redfern, and Ian and Barbara of course. And then Donna's wedding, finally, and if it didn't hurt so much he would have smiled at that: Donna finally getting her wedding.

And because he could, he went and saw Rose when she was younger. She didn't know him, she wouldn't ever recognize him, but to see her one last time – if he never saw her again – and it _hurt_, everything hurt so bloody much he barely made it through the conversation without appearing anything more than drunk.

By that point it wouldn't have mattered if she'd seen him. For him, it had been three days – but that much radiation was enough to kill a cockroach instantly, and it had been, physically, the three worst days of his life. Anything he ate or drank came straight back up, and his body was burning itself up in an effort to control the radiation. He looked like he'd been through a concentration camp, and at this point, he wasn't entirely sure that he wouldn't prefer to have been. He'd had a pounding headache since the moment he'd stepped out of the booth, although the flushed skin had died down after the first day. The fever had gotten steadily worse – his core body temperature had increased seven degrees Celsius already, and it was still rising. He was about three away from brain damage. He didn't think he'd have to worry about that though: the radiation would get there first. And through it all, he had to hold off the regeneration, even as he knew that for all the pain it would cause, it would make the rest go away.

Then it took him, suddenly. He hunched over, hands crossed over his stomach, trying not to vomit. The pain escalated, past even where it had been before. He stumbled towards the TARDIS, unable to hold the emotions back any more, and fell down half way there. Shuddering, he knelt in the centre of the snow covered street, trying to pluck up the energy to get all the way into his TARDIS. Waves of pain rolled through him as his central nervous system rebelled – had he been human he would have cried out from the agony, but had he been human he would have been dead three days before.

The crunch of shoes in snow caught his attention, pulling his head up. Even in the middle of holding back another spasm, he rolled his eyes. "Aren't I done with you yet?"

"Nope!" The Master grinned, popping the _p_. His face flickered into the skull again. "You're never going to be rid of me, Doctor." He crouched down in front of the other Time Lord.

Doing his very best to ignore the pain, the Doctor shoved himself into a sitting position. "It's lasting longer now," he said, meaning the skull face.

The Master shrugged. "Entertaining to show to people."

"You're dying," the Doctor told him bluntly.

Laughing, the Master shoved him over, into the snow. "So are you."

He let himself fall. His skin was burning, he knew that consciously, but he shivered uncontrollably at the press of snow against him. What he couldn't figure out was _why_. The Master hated having other people see him weak. So why, then, would he come _now_, when he was so dangerously weak and close to regenerating? Breathing shakily, he remained there, in the snow, prone at the feet of his polar opposite.

They both remained silent for a minute, both trying to regain control of their bodies. Finally the Master's face returned to normal. "We're both about to regenerate."

"Maybe," the Doctor replied, with just a hint of his normal defiance and energy.

The Master took a step forward, nudging at the Doctor with the toe of one boot. "I thought I taught you never to lie to me."

He couldn't help himself, he flinched at that tone of voice. He still wouldn't respond, he could deny the other that much. The radiation had no care for his pride though. He seized up again, retching. The one blessing was that there was nothing left to come out, and the dry heaving turned into seizures fairly quickly.

The Master laughed, using his boot to flip the Doctor's body over. "I think you _are_ weaker than me."

Crying out, the Doctor arched off the ground. Any attempt to control the radiation at this point was doomed to failure. "Piss off," he hissed from between clenched teeth, too much in pain to bother being polite.

"I don't think –" It was the Master's turn to pause as his face flashed into a skull and stayed that way. Rolling his shoulders to accustom himself to the new feel, he glared down at the Doctor. "I don't think I will, thanks," he said finally.

Biting down on his lip hard enough to feel the all-too familiar taste of blood and artron energy wash over his tongue, the Doctor glared up at the other Time Lord. "What do you want?" It took far too much energy to get even that out, leaving him drained and shaking on the ground.

The Master's face flickered back into normalcy and then into a skull. "Your pain. I –" He paused, fighting down pain of his own. "I want your pain."

"You got it," the Doctor replied dryly, forcing himself over onto his side and spitting blood out of his mouth. The only good thing he could say about the seizures was that they were short. They were also unbearably painful, debilitating, and frequent.

Kneeling down himself, face twisted from his own oncoming regeneration, the Master shook his head, losing his grasp on the carefully formed persona. "No – no. Your pain. As I destroy your world." He reached into the pocket of his hoodie, pulling out a depressingly familiar square of electronics.

Depression washed over the Doctor, leaving him too out of control to hold it back from his face. "The Osterhagen Key."

"Yes," the Master hissed, mixed pleasure and pain. The skull disappeared again, making a crackling noise as it went. "Your Martha Jones – didn't do a very good job, did she?" His breath whistled as he gasped it in and out rapidly. "It's – _hell_ – it's been reprogrammed. This – in one computer – destroy the Earth."

And he'd thought this couldn't get any worse. The Doctor stared up, ignoring the Master, ignoring the snow landing on his cheeks, ignoring everything except for what he would have to give up this time to save the Earth. The shuddering from the cold merged with the shuddering from the pain, leaving him a wreck, too weak to stand. "Wha' – what do you want?"

The Master looked down at him, face flickering in and out too fast to tell which one it was. It finally settled on the blue-white skull. "Leave the Earth. Don't return. Give – give me a chase. You're always findin' me. 'S my turn."

Leaving the Earth, never to return, with a psychopathic Time Lord on his heels until one of them died for real. If the Master's version of hell was stuck on the TARDIS with just the Doctor, then this was his. "No."

A wave of pain shook the Master. He still managed to grin, though – cocky bastard. "Then we all die. Someone round here's got to have a computer I can use."

"No," the Doctor said again, quieter. "_Please._" His voice broke on the last word. He told himself the tears were from the pain. He knew that was a lie. "Please. Anything. What – anything."

Bracing himself with one hand on the Doctor's shoulder, the Master scowled at him. "I _told_ you what I want. Leave. Don't return. I'll follow. What don't you get?"

He shook, from pain and cold and the death that he was so desperately avoiding. "How – how are you gonna follow? No TARDIS."

The Master pulled back the sleeve on his hoodie, revealing a leather wrist strap.

"No," the Doctor said, breath hissing out between his teeth. "Jack?"

Shaking his head, the Master managed to look disappointed. An irrelevant part of the Doctor's mind pointed out that this was quite a feat, considering he was currently skull-shaped. "Pretty boy was gone. Left this behind, though. Hijacked someone else's signal to find you. Don't know where they got to. Going to latch it on to your TARDIS."

_Oh, Jack, you moron, you were supposed to destroy the others!_

The Doctor made it a point to keep an eye on Torchwood; he knew that other Time Agents had been through and that more than one of them had left a vortex manipulator behind. He'd sent instructions to Jack to destroy all but one of them. Apparently that hadn't worked out.

The Master arched his back, jaw clenched to hold in a scream. His face reappeared. "So," he gasped out. "Run? Or die?"

There wasn't really a choice. He wasn't sure where he drew the energy from, but somehow he found the strength to stand, tremors wracking his body.

"Ooh, good choice," the Master said, still kneeling. "Just got something to take care of. Catch up later." He gasped, crossing both arms over his chest as another flash of artron energy tore through him.

Staggering, the Doctor made his way to the TARDIS. He fumbled the key out, shoving it in the lock. His coordination was going - _everything _was going, at this point. Taking one last look at the Master – every time another burst of energy occurred, more of his body switched between flesh and bone – he shut the door. There was only one lever he had to pull, and the TARDIS was off, fading into the Time Vortex.


	22. The Memories of the End, III

******Doctor Who, Special Series; Episode 5: The Memories of the End**  


**A/N: Once again, I am writing this early, although this time it's because I'M GOING TO SEE THE HOBBIT TONIGHT. Just thought you all should know that. Hence, I'm not getting to bed until 3 am, and since I have to get up around 8ish Saturday morning… I'm not going to be coherent enough to write anything.**

**Anyway. So this chapter is entirely the fault of my plot bunnies. Seriously, I have notes that say "Characters X, Y, and Z are not showing up because it looks like an ass pull to get them in." And then the bunnies kindly helped me get rid of 500,000 rads (which is a bloody **_**huge**_** amount of radiation; I wasn't exaggerating when I wrote that it would kill a cockroach instantly) and their only demand was that characters X, Y, and Z show up in this chapter. So they do.**

**Thanks to: LilyLunaPotter142, PersonBehindScreen, Suuki-Aldrea, hiholly123, Ptroxsora, FlyingLovegood123, and Epic Emma 2017. Special thanks go to Suuki-Aldrea, who helped me with my Classic Who problem. More on this later.**

**200****th**** reviewer gets a one-shot (because I'm getting more and more reviews every chapter, and want to make sure people know). Also, I Worship Steven Moffat, your one-shot is coming. It occupied far too much of my brain this week. *le sigh***

* * *

The TARDIS wrapped herself around his mind, showing him precisely what she thought of his refusal to regenerate. In return, he presented his memories of the Master's threats and what they would mean if he failed. She didn't think this was a good reason for him to hurt himself, although she did understand the thought of his pain if the Earth was destroyed. Biting down on his lip so hard he felt a piece come off, he showed her what would happen if he took the time to regenerate now. Off-kilter in a new body, it would be easy for the Master to catch up with him, when what he _really_ needed was to gain enough space to go to ground somewhere. At this, she agreed and backed off slightly.

They were in the Time Vortex, he wasn't sure exactly where – she was doing everything she could to mix up the trail, and in all honesty, it didn't really matter. Grabbing all of the regeneration energy he could hold, he shoved it at one particular area in the back of his mind. It had been over a year since that link had appeared and he'd never accessed it before. The energy he was throwing at it, however, blasted it wide open.

Searing pain encompassed his world for a moment but – then –

_Ow! Did it ever occur to you that I might be busy?_

Despite knowing that no one could see him, he grinned. _Yes,_ he sent towards the link, _but this is more important. Wait - _A thought occurred to him. _If it involved you and Rose, I don't wanna know._

An annoyed snicker came down the line. _Would serve you right. No, it's morning here and I was making breakfast._

_Very domestic._

More annoyance, less amusement. _Did you have something to say or were you just planning to make snarky comments while I'm cooking for _my wife_?_

That hurt – he flinched, reminded of everything he'd given up. _Congratulations,_ he finally sent, ignoring the burning jealousy and guilt.

_I really am busy._

_I know – I – I'm dying._ There was probably, on second thought, a better way to phrase it, but everything hurt too much to figure it out.

_What! No – hold on a minute, I just burnt the eggs._

Even in his pain, he laughed at that – it was so very _him_, which was perhaps the point – and leaned against the console, waiting for his doppelganger to return to the conversation. The TARDIS, trying to help, raised the temperature of the console room until it felt like he was standing in a sauna. He thanked her, the worst of his tremors ceasing.

_Sorry,_ the other him sent. _Well, they weren't really _burnt_, but Rose says they weren't supposed to turn blue, either._

He laughed again, the snickers turning to mews of pain as another seizure began. Collapsing, he swore when the back of his head smacked against the base of the console.

_You don't feel good._

_No,_ he sent bluntly. _I told you, I'm dying,_

_And what? You're worried it's going to affect me, too?_ There was a pause. _It's not that I don't care – It's just that we never went to anyone before. We never needed to._

Apparently Rose had been working on his diplomatic skills. _No – no, you're fine. You're completely separate from me. No, I'm dying – but I think there's a way for you to help._

_Dangerous?_

_Probably._

_No._

He flinched – from the pain, he told himself sternly, not the shock. _What? Why not?_

_What happens if I die instead? How could you even _think_ of doing that to Rose again? I won't regenerate. I'll just leave her, alone, again._

The seizure was over but he was still shaking, muscles too weak to do anything else. _I – I didn't think._

_You never do,_ the other him sent back bitterly. _Were you even thinking when you left us in Norway?_

That hurt, mostly because he _had_ been. It was one of the hardest decisions he'd ever had to make, and to this day, he still wasn't sure what he'd decide if he had to do it over. _Yes. Think about it as a Time Lord, not as a human. What would have happened if I let myself get attached to you and to – to her? Because eventually the two of you will die, and I'll be left to go onward, and if I ever admit how I feel – how would I be able to go onward? And I have to continue, you know that, you know it better than anyone else._

There was a long pause. _She says that's very selfish._

He hunched over in pain, both physical and emotional. _There was another reason, too – that universe – it needed someone to guide and protect it. And the two of you – you're the best guardians there could ever be._

Another pause. _Is that why you gave us a piece of the TARDIS?_

_Yes. And no. A lot of it was because I wanted you to be happy. And her – that was all I ever wanted, was for her to be happy._

He guessed what was going on now, in the pause: The other Doctor and Rose were discussing what this meant, and what they should do. Finally, another thought came through the link: _No. Not if I could die._

He gasped in another breath. They were coming faster and closer together – he could feel his hearts accelerating dangerously. He would have to regenerate soon or risk a permanent death. He had, at most, half an hour. _There's something else! _he screamed into the link, feeling it start to shut down from the other end. _The Master – he's back and he's got a vortex manipulator._

Immediately the presence through the link intensified. _Show me._

Eagerly, the Doctor spread the link wide open and shoved the memories through, starting with the radiation booth. It hurt to hope. It hurt to do anything, but hope – and the prospect of it being dashed – hurt the most.

_If you regenerate now – _

_He'll catch up. And if he catches me – _

_Who knows what will happen._

_Nothing good._

_Agreed. I need to talk to Rose._

That was a better response, though still not a good one. Scrounging up a trace of humour, he forced out a smile. _You're hen-pecked._

_You _bet_ I am._ The link closed off slightly after that, a sign of his waning concentration.

The Doctor retched again, almost biting his tongue off when yet another seizure began in the middle. His nervous system was collapsing rapidly – everything else had the _potential_ to be fatal, but that bit would kill him first.

_She says yes._

He breathed out sharply, a sigh of relief if he could admit such a thing to himself. _Thank you,_ he sent, utterly sincere.

_She had an interesting idea, though – is there another link in your mind? There is in mine, but she's one more step removed from you and so we're not sure if –_

Keeping track of the other's pronouns was exhausting. _Who?_

_Donna._

_No! We're not putting her in danger as well!_ He wasn't sure why it was acceptable to put the other Doctor in danger but not Donna, it just was, and it wasn't a part of himself he wanted to examine too closely.

_Ro – she doesn't think it will be a danger. If we get her when she's asleep, we can wake that part up and leave the rest alone. She'll be perfectly safe._

_But you can't know that._

_And you can't know that _I'll_ be safe, and yet I'm willing to take the risk. She would be too._

_You can't know that either._

_Can too. Half Donna, remember?_

He could just picture the cheeky grin his other self would be wearing at this point. _Fine,_ he conceded. _I'll open the link._

It was easier, this time, now that the area of his mind was already partly opened. Using more energy – it helped for it to have somewhere to go anyway – he blasted open the other side. More pain. He wasn't sure how much more he could stand.

_Doctor?_

_Yes._

_Yes._

_Oh. Both of you._

He grinned even through the pain; Donna sounded sleepy and annoyed. _Are you asleep?_

_Yes,_ she sent back. _Most of me is. This really is dangerous, you know._

_We know,_ the other him sent. _It's necessary, though._ The information came from the other Doctor and went to Donna, but the bare edges of it brushed against the Doctor's mind. It was an interesting sensation to say the least.

Donna sent a grunt back in place of a snarky comment. _I'll do it._

_What?_ The Doctor wasn't sure why his other half had brought Donna into this – he presumed it had something to do with double checking the safety – but surely there was nothing she could _do_.

His other half had a similar reaction. _Earth girl, there's nothing you can do. I'll take the energy, but someone needs to keep an eye on us._

Donna laughed. _Boys._

_Oi!_

_The two of you, biggest brains in the universe, and _still_ both morons._

He sighed, pain making his limbs shake. _What am I missing?_

_We._

_Fine, then. What are _we _missing?_

_You've got a connection to both of us. Why can't you use both sides and split the energy in half?_

He blinked, completely distracted for the first time. His mind ran down all the different options, all the different ways that could go._ Donna Noble, you are brilliant!_ He grinned wildly. _That might work._

_Of course it'll work, _Donna sent back, amusement rippling down the link.

_If it doesn't_, he sent grimly.

_We'll both die,_ the other him said. _We know. And Rose knows too. But – this is worth it._

Donna snorted. _What he doesn't want to say, because he still hasn't forgiven you for leaving Rose on that beach – twice – is that _you're_ worth it._

_No I'm not._

Noises of disapproval came from both sides. There was the sense of a conversation being held just beyond the edge of his hearing. Finally Donna sent, _Your inferiority complex is worse than mine._

He scowled, forcing his way past the shaking. _Weren't you the one complaining about my ego?_

_Not in everything, _she sent. _But in some things. Like this one. If _I_ am the most important woman in the universe, then how important must _you_ be?_

_Not worth risking your lives over._

_You were the one who started this,_ the other him pointed out.

He ignored this point. The truth was, he had thought it was a good idea, but the longer they talked about it, the more he questioned the morality of asking two others to risk themselves to save him. Particularly when he didn't really _need_ saving.

_Yes you do,_ Donna said.

He frowned, forgetting she couldn't see him. _You heard that?_

_We're in your head, space man,_ Donna told him. _Of course we heard it. And it's not like you're asking utter strangers. We're half you, after all._

Somehow, that just made it worse. _No. I'll deal with it on my own. Try to build up enough space –_

_Stupid self-sacrificing _idiot_! _Donna's rant blasted into his mind. _We're in your head. We can feel your pain._

Immediately he began shutting down his pain centres, trying to protect them, irrespective of the cost to himself.

_Stop it,_ the other him said. _Just let the regeneration start and then vent the energy to us. There'll be little enough at that point that all that should happen is we'll lose a few years and glow for a bit. Donna'll remain asleep through all of it, and Rose is already helping with my body._

He swallowed, resistance melting in the face of their certainty. It didn't help that the TARDIS was pressuring him as well – she'd been listening in and agreed with Donna and the other him. _Fine._

_You sound so enthusiastic._

_Don't discourage him, Donna!_ his other self said with a definite taste of amusement.

_The comments certainly aren't helping,_ he told the pair.

_Hurry up then,_ Donna said.

Groaning, he collected the energy and began to split it. Calling it difficult was an understatement – he had to take the cause of all his pain, relocate it to his mind, split it in half, and give it to someone else, all without letting his hearts stop as they were trying to do or drop any of it midway. It was fortunate that radiation was just energy and that regeneration energy was concentrated, focused radiation – although he had to alter its forms, it was then remarkably easy to vent across time streams and universes into the other parts of himself. In a sense it was just like how he had created his other self in the first place, except that he had more energy to get rid of, and it was more dangerous because the receptacles were also alive.

When it was done, he wanted to collapse. The TARDIS showed him what he had looked like – it almost appeared like he was regenerating, except the flames were a darker orange – he supposed that was the result of the radiation.

The radiation itself was gone, but the aftereffects remained: he hadn't eaten or slept in three days, was running a high fever, had a mild concussion, had injured or strained most of his muscles, and on top of all that, his hair was falling out.

_Ow._ Pain washed back down the link from his other self, lesser and dampened.

_Agreed,_ Donna said dryly. _And you were holding twice this much?_

_More than that,_ he sent faintly, struggling to hold the link open. _A lot went into establishing the link, and more into crossing time streams._

_And a universe,_ the other him sent.

_You are insane._ Donna mentally thumped him. It didn't hurt much – he didn't have the energy to wonder why.

_Agreed._

_Shove off, the pair of you,_ he sent, too exhausted and hurt to be polite.

_You need to use a coma, _the other him sent dispassionately. _You've got brain damage._

_I'll live. That's all that matters._

_No, it's not. You're injured and it's getting worse; go into a coma, now, while he's still trying to find you._

_No! He'll catch up to me if I do that._

_Idiots,_ Donna sent. _I wasn't there, but I have your memories. Use the watch._

He blinked. That – that hadn't come to him, he wasn't sure why.

_Brain damage, I told you,_ the other him said._ You're not thinking properly. And the watch would be the second best solution._

He conceded that his thoughts were a bit – off, but the watch? _Who will open it?_

Donna shrugged. _Find someone. Hell, give it to Martha again._

_He'll be keeping an eye on her,_ the other him said.

_He'll be watching all of them – you too_, he sent at the same moment.

Donna laughed. _Two of you is too much._

_Jack would have an opinion on that._

_Oi! Cool it, alien boy! You're married._

_I'm not so sure Rose would protest._

_That just sounds complicated._

He ignored both of them, focusing on trying to figure out what was damaged. _A lot_ was the inevitable answer, including some areas that made it difficult to be introspective. It wasn't just the concussion, though that didn't help. The radiation had severely injured his brain, that being part of the reason behind the seizures. The watch it was, then. It would help him shut down the areas that needed it, leaving them alone to repair and regrow.

_Good,_ the other him said. _Have you heard anything?_

He frowned at the sudden subject change. _About?_

_Locks._

It took him a minute to sort through a thousand conflicting memories. _No. Why?_

_Rose has been listening to people. She's good at that._

_I know._

_Oi! You – stop it, you know that's got to hurt. And you – she's not yours any more, and yes it is your fault, so quit blaming the rest of us._

He almost laughed at that, even through the pain. That continued – his body was too damaged for it to stop. _Donna, you haven't changed a bit._

_Good. So, space man,_ she sent, turning her attention to the other him. _What's this about locks?_

_Nothing, that's what's odd. Just scraps of conversation, where a lock is weakening or open or broken. Ro – she thinks it's like Bad Wolf all over again, but we can't figure out what it's referring to._

_That's the thing about Bad Wolf,_ he told them. _No one could know what it meant until it happened. But I don't know – there isn't anyone left who would do that._

_No companions? _the other him asked.

_It's not safe,_ he sent in a tone that told them not to follow that train of thought.

Donna scoffed. _If you're right, it sounds more like disappearing planets. Seen any Daleks recently?_

_If? _If_?_ The other Doctor sounded over-offended. _I'll have you know, I am _always_ right._

_Uh-huh. Answer the question. _

_No. No Daleks._

He swallowed. _No Daleks here either. Just the Master._

The other grunted. _Could be him._

_What could _he_ do that would threaten all the universes?_

_If the Daleks could –_ His other self didn't need to finish the sentence.

_But he wouldn't,_ he sent. He'd always known that while the Daleks wanted to destroy the universe, the Master just wanted to destroy him.

_Maybe you're wrong,_ Donna said. _You've been wrong before._

_It could be something else. It could be nothing at all. It could only be relevant over there – that's the most likely, really. How many warnings have I gotten that crossed universes?_

_One was more than enough, _Donna sent dryly.

He shook his head slowly. _And really, knowing my luck, I won't hear about it until it's too late anyway. What sense in worrying about it now?_

_Because you might find something out._

_Since when were we cautious?_

_Since I only had one life and couldn't afford to waste it._

_I'm glad the two of you are in different universes,_ Donna said casually, _the testosterone would kill otherwise._

_I would like to point out now,_ he sent testily, _that I am about to spend an indeterminate amount of time human and am not really in a position to be remembering anything._

The other him – smug bastard – mentally shrugged. _Thought you'd wanna know._

_Be polite and say thank you, Doctor,_ Donna sent.

An array of responses spun through his mind.

_We can hear all of that, you know._

_Oh, piss off! _No humour in that one, just annoyance and pain and exhaustion. _And thanks,_ he added, more quietly. He was on the verge of a breakdown if he didn't do something quickly. _It's getting worse._

_We'll leave you be, then. Don't use the link unless you have to._

_Agreed_, Donna sent. _You can't know if I'm awake or not until you try and if I am – _There wasn't any need to spell it out.

He nodded, forgetting that they couldn't see him, and then remembering that they were in his head instead. _Thank you._

_You're not as bad as you think you are, _Donna said. _Think on that._ And then she was gone again, shutting down the link. In the morning, it would just be another odd, half remembered dream.

The other Doctor sighed. _Rose says that she still loves you, that she understands why you left us but that she can't forgive you yet, and that – what? _ The link closed off briefly before the other Doctor burst back in, muttering to himself. _She wants to name our baby after you but doesn't know what to use – I could tell her that. Could I tell her that? It's in my head, after all._

_Too dangerous,_ he sent. That, at least, was something he could always remember. _What name are you using?_

_I'm the Doctor. _Smugness and pride radiated down the link. _Torchwood called me John Smith, but I wasn't there long. Nothing really seemed to fit, you know? Of course you do – you're me._

_John Tyler has a nice ring to it. Jane if it's a girl. And - _He hesitated, wondering whether to take this step.

_What?_

_John Theta Tyler._

_I like it. Thank you. And, Doctor?_

He was shutting down the link, closing off that area of his mind again. _What?_

_Get a companion. You're dangerous alone._

_I'm dangerous to them._

_Danger to one person or danger to whole planets. Take your pick._

He didn't like the choice, but he finished blocking off the link in silence, pondering it. That done, he focused his attention outward for the first time in – ah, seventeen minutes. The TARDIS hummed to him. Someone was on their trail, but he had time.

Groaning, he got up shakily and staggered over to the Chameleon Arch, preparing to jump into the unknown once more.


	23. The Memories of the End, IV

**Doctor Who, Special Series; Episode 5: The Memories of the End**

**A/N: Hey! Some explanation about chapters and posting dates: This is the last chapter of Episode 5. The next chapter will be an interlude between Episodes 5 and 6. This will be posted on Saturday, December 22****nd****. Episode 6 will be posted on the mornings of the 26****th**** through the 30****th****. Episode 7 will be posted starting Saturday, January 5****th****. Everybody clear? Good.**

**Also, I had fun writing from the POV of a sentient box. I Worship Steven Moffat, your one-shot is done, and it's going up as soon as I've edited it.**

**Thanks to: Paul, Bplus and proud, Ashlee Pond, FlyingLovegood123, , Ptroxsora, Epic Emma 2017, and LilyLunaPotter142.**

* * *

She was worried about her thief.

That wasn't strictly true, and she liked being precise. Part of her was worried about her thief. Part of her was taken up by flight calculations. Part of her was examining the universe, deciding where to go. And the rest was observing the Time Vortex.

But, inasmuch as she thought like any species restricted by causality, she was very worried about her thief. The part of her in the console noticed that he was lying in the Chameleon Arch, motionless.

She saw everything at once, all of time and space and everything in between, but she had to have a focus point, and that was whenever her thief was. Her consciousness was always with him, travelling in the same direction as him, even when the rest of her was spread out amongst the stars.

That was why she knew when he sat up, groaning. She didn't have eyes or ears, but they were connected – she knew every movement he made while inside her, and knew precisely what he would look like at any given moment. "Need you to do something. Can't start it without a plan. Need you to do something," he repeated.

She pointed out that he didn't need to talk aloud.

"Can't – can't hear you," he gasped out, one hand on his chest, the other twined in his hair. "That – that's gone. Radiation. Need you to – I've said that before. Mind going. Literally. I just – flash a light if you hear me, 'kay?"

He couldn't hear her? She was very worried about him, now. Then. Would be. Gently, she increased the heat in the console room, and then switched the colour of the lighting from pale yellow to red and back again.

He nodded. "Great. Good. Brilliant. Fantastic. No. That was before. No. But – he's still following us, right? Ah – centre light – green for yes, red for no."

She switched the colour of the centre console from blue to green and left it there. She tried to see if he liked it that way. There was one where it was green, but there were many where it was blue. She wasn't sure. He would tell her if he didn't like it.

Of course the inverse thief was still following her. He was the opposite of her thief, which meant he would be able to focus on one topic for longer than one of her cycles. And the inverse thief had seen her before, so she had seen him – all of him, pasts and presents and futures and everything in between – and she knew where and when he was, and how he got there, and where he was going, and everything about his little knot in space-time.

"How close?"

She clattered instruments on the console. How was she supposed to tell him something complicated like that if he couldn't hear her? Turning all the video screens on, she sent the information to them, but until he got up, he wouldn't be able to see it.

Her thief laughed harshly. "Sorry. Coming, dear." He shoved himself off the pilot's chair, collapsing forward on the console. Levers thudded into new positions. "Voice override: ignore those commands. Continue on course." Grabbing a video screen, he pulled it close to his face. "Ah. Good. He's behind. Now. You won't like this."

She hummed. Of course she was going to ignore any levers he pushed – once she was in the Time Vortex, her exit was determined only by _her_, and not by any silly causality-limited creatures. And what was her thief up to that she wouldn't like? She flickered lights again, humming in distress.

"Oh don't do that." He stepped back from the console, collapsing into the chair. "I need you to act on your own."

He was right – obviously he was right. He was always right, when he was talking to her. He knew better than to lie. But she didn't like it. Flashing the lights though the whole spectrum, she escalated her whirring. She didn't like being made to work on her own, she preferred to have his influence beside her.

His hands were already repositioning the Chameleon Arch. "_Please._"

He didn't need to beg, he never needed to beg, not with her. Gradually she fixed the lights, switching to a softer pattern in pale oranges and yellows.

"Thank you," he said softly, adjusting the Arch to cup his head. "Find someone who looks like me. S-s-s- _ahh!_" Seizing up, he curled into a ball in the chair.

Wishing, not for the first time – or for the first time, for the last time, for every time – that she could touch him, she whirred in distress, putting on soft music and increasing the temperature again.

Gasping, he returned to a sitting position. "Radiation not – not quite gone. Got rid of most of it, but some is still there. Still attacking me. Body trying to fight it off. And I'm already hurt."

Grumbling to herself at a frequency where she knew he couldn't hear her, she altered the lighting in the console room until it matched his settings for the bedroom he so rarely used. She wasn't distressed that he was in pain – she was, but she always was, and that wasn't the point. The problem was that he thought there was a companion here for him to explain it to. He was trying to tell someone what was happening to him, but the only one there was her, and she already – always – knew everything.

He was whimpering slightly, and twitching, and it was _wrong_, and if there was anything she could do about it, she would, but she couldn't, and so she waited for him to regain enough focus to tell her what to do. "A – a – a body. Just s-s-someone who looks like me. Switch us. G-g-give me his memories. N-n-need a ssstronger story than b-b-before."

She whined, but she switched the centre console from green to blue and back again.

"G-good. I – I – I'll – _gods!_" He seized up again, clutching his head between both hands. "Miss you," he said finally. "D-d-do." He paused for a while, panting. When he looked up again, he was dripping in sweat, eyes wide and staring, and yet he looked calmer than he had since entering her. "Do it."

It was easy to flood the Arch with power, but harder than she had expected – planned for, known of – to wait while he screamed in pain. The last time – the first time, the next time – there had been a companion here, to help with him, and so she could turn her attention elsewhen, to a point where her thief wasn't as hurt. Instead she was stuck, his last line of defence against a universe determined to destroy him.

His hands clutched at the Arch, trying to pull it away, but it had fused to his skull. Energy raced through his body, altering every cell – it was a lot like regeneration, she reflected, not for the first time, or the last - but that was an incredibly painful process, even if he wouldn't remember it for a while.

She couldn't ignore him – that was one of the problems with being as powerful as she was, there was no way to turn it off – but she tried. She scanned every human in the universe, every one who lived, who had lived, and who would live.

This was instantaneous, and – to her disgruntlement – unsuccessful. There were no humans who looked enough like her thief to fool the inverse thief, and that was what he needed.

Yelling out in pain, his eyes focused on her console briefly. "_Other places!_" he screamed, before lapsing back into incoherency.

Other places? Whatever could he mean? She had checked all of the places in the universe, that was what she _did_. Her whirring grew louder as she ran through all of the possible meanings of those two words, particularly when connected with her thief. She would have glared at him when she figured it out, if she had a body with which to do so.

It wasn't other places, except as she thought of them, and she had wasted time trying to see how _he_ was thinking, when he had taken the care to phrase it in a way she would understand. Not other places. Other _universes_.

The thing he usually forgot was that holes between universes were perfectly normal and acceptable – it was just that most of them weren't big enough for her to fit through. One, though – there was one she was passing by that might work, although it'd be a bit of a squeeze. Sighing, she jettisoned three bedrooms and a bathroom, before whipping off sideways.

The jolt as they crossed through knocked him out of his pain. His eyes snapped open and he stared, wild eyed and frighteningly pale, around the console room, before passing out.

That, at least, was a good sign. It meant that her thief was no longer her thief, but a human instead, and a good sleep would help things assimilate.

This universe was smaller than hers, just one star – it was very odd, it seemed to be pulling everything else from hers, as if it was woven in – but she had found him. A human who looked exactly like her thief, down to the mole on his back. She landed them in a building with dark things that wanted to eat her. Annoyed more than anything else, she pulled the human inside her and then took off again, not wanting to play by her thief's rules if that was what had put him in so much pain to begin with.

The human was very confused and not at all sane, but she didn't care. She forced a link with his mind, ripping out everything she thought her thief would need. Once that was done, it was easy to send that along the wires to the Chameleon Arch, where it poured into her thief.

The watch clicked out of the Arch, falling into her thief's lap. She could hear it, even if he could not.

_My belongings. We – you and me – we'll be stuck unless I can get them to someone._

She agreed, changing directions. This time she landed in a room at the bottom of a building that, like her, was larger on the inside than out, although to her disappointment, it didn't seem to be alive. She'd chosen it because there were a lot of humans running around, but – looking over the console room – neither of the ones in her seemed to be in any shape to go catch one.

Her thief was still unconscious, although his brain patterns were beginning to regularize somewhat. The human was – odd. She had damaged him when she ripped out his memories, and he didn't seem to be stabilizing or waking up. With a groan that materialized as a lone _vworp_, she shifted the floor, moving the human out of the console room and into a hallway. Once he was in there, she locked the doors around him. He could lay there until her thief recovered and decided what to do with him.

She decided her thief was right: he had his toys that would let him survive, and someone had to hold on to them for him. But he wasn't in any condition to go out and choose someone. Grumbling, she opened her doors. Whoever would come in would be curious, which was a good start. If they were a danger, she could stop them; if they weren't, the video screens could be used to give directions.

This was part of why the Time Lords had bound her kind to themselves: she was the most powerful being in the all the universes and, unrestrained, she could do anything. Instead she was bound to this form, tied irrevocably to her thief, limited by the choices he made and the actions he allowed her to do. She wouldn't have been happy any other way.

She liked the man who walked in almost instantly. He _felt_ like her thief, in a lot of ways, curious and brave and stubborn and a little too proud and loyal to the point of insanity. She didn't know what he looked like – she couldn't see in that way – but he moved like he was tall and skinny.

"Hello? Oh – Merlin," he said faintly.

She snickered, illustrated by the release of smoke from the back of the console. This was the bit she liked, the bit where the new ones acted all confused by her. Usually she used her thief's eyes to see their faces.

The feet took a step forward and then backed hastily out her doors. After a minute he came back in again. "It –it's bigger."

More smoke. She wished she had eyes to use, she would have liked to see his face. Rotating one of the video screens, she began putting text up on it.

_GOODBYE. _

That was deleted quickly. It wasn't the right word, but she couldn't figure out which end of the conversation she was on.

_HELP?_

This one she left up, waiting for the man to walk over. He did so slowly and hesitantly, touching the video screen with a soft hand. "Who is this? I'll help, I just can't see you."

_HELP? MY THIEF. _

The arrow pointed toward her thief as she began rearranging cables to help clear the way.

The man shifted weight. "Who are you?"

She cleared the screen. _PLEASE. HELP HIM._

Her floors creaked as the man walked around the console. "But – but that's Crouch! That's Barty Crouch! He's supposed to be in prison."

She took control of the video screen closest to him, shoving it under his nose. _NO. IT'S MY THIEF. _It took her a moment to locate the name that others used for him. She wasn't good with names, they came and went too quickly. _THE DOCTOR._

There was a long pause as the man shifted weight again. "May – Can't believe I'm talking to a box. – May I touch him?"

_YES._

This she could watch, in a way, his interactions with her thief. The man pushed up the sleeve on her thief's left arm, apparently looking for something. When he didn't find it, he checked the other one. "You – you're right. That's not Barty Crouch. I don't know who that is, but it's not Barty Crouch."

She didn't respond to this, trying to keep tabs on her thief. He was still unconscious, and would probably remain so for a long while.

_Give him the key,_ her thief said from the watch.

She agreed, beginning a new message. _HELP HIM. A LITTLE THING. NOT HARD._

The man touched the video screen. "What _is_ this? It's not wizarding tech – is it Muggle? Astounding what those Muggles can do, isn't it? So this man – is he a Muggle too? Oh, but you wouldn't know what I'm talking about. Are you the machine? Is the machine talking to me? Oh, Molly is _never_ going to believe this."

Panic rushed up in her, driven by the watch. _DON'T TELL ANYONE!_

He patted the screen. "I won't, don't worry. I just wanted an explanation."

_I AM THE MACHINE._

"Really?" he said, excited. "And you say _Muggles _invented this? How utterly fascinating."

_HELP. PLEASE._ Yes, the man was very much like her thief – just as impossible to keep focused, for one.

The man turned to look at her thief and then back at the console. "Yes. What do you want?"

_Give him the key, the paper, and the screwdriver. They're in my upper left pocket. They should be the only things in there – ooh. He doesn't need to take the slingshot, though. Forgot that was in there._

She laughed at him, to his annoyance, but prepared another message. _UPPER LEFT POCKET. THREE ITEMS. BLACK RECTANGLE. GRAY STICK. KEY. KEEP THEM SAFE. HE WILL FIND YOU._

The man gently explored her thief's pockets, eventually coming out with the three items. "That's it? That's all you want?"

She made no response, instead swinging her outer doors open again.

"How very interesting – is there a reason you're in the Department of Mysteries?"

She turned off the lights. If he couldn't take the first hint, she would make it more blatant.

He laughed slightly, sounding a little afraid. "Alright. I'm going." He left, closing the door behind him.

_Good,_ her thief said. _Now hide me and return here. Emergency programme one._

She fully agreed with this, and she knew where to hide him, too: in the place where she had gotten the human, with the dark eaters. He could go there in place of the human and no one would ever know there had been a change.

The most difficult part was getting him out of her without hurting him, but once that was done, the only way to tell that there had been a switch was the change of clothes – from ragged prison uniform to ragged brown suit. Sadly, already feeling alone, she flew back to the bigger on the inside place and parked herself in the smallest, farthest room she could find, shutting down every non-essential process. She did one last thing for him, though: Before closing everything off, she sent her knowledge of the events that had passed since he walked into her to the watch. He had taught her, over hundreds of years, to take precautions whenever possible, and this was one she could do. She would wait for her thief to come back, however long that took. She could wait for millennia.

* * *

_Next time on Doctor Who – Episode 6: The Nativity Story._

"_Look! It's Christmas! Oh, I love Christmas, don't you?"_

…

"_Did you have anything to do with this?"_

"_Me? No, nothing. Well, unless you count showing up. Some people do – gets a bit annoying, that."_

…

"_The _Doctor_? What kind of a rubbish name is that?"_

"_And _that's_ his first question on meeting you. About your _name_."_

"_Oi! It's a lovely name!"_

"_It's a bit odd, though. Not even really a _name_, so much as a _title_."_

"_Well, _yeah_. It is now."_

…

"_What? Why do you have a gun? Guns. Really?"_

"_It doesn't shoot bullets, Doctor. It shoots a sleeping agent combined with a tracker device. One shot from this and he'll go down instantly, wake up thirty minutes later, no significant side effects."_

…

"_How do we do that? Find Voldemort – oh look, you lot don't flinch. Good. Flinching is annoying."_

…

"_Blood blood blood b-b-b-bloood. What are you doing? Not blood control, not sacrifices, you're using it for something but it's okay that it comes from many different sources – no. Yes. Really? No. Not possible. You wouldn't. Not here."_


	24. Meta-Fictional Problems

**Doctor Who, Special Series; Interlude: Meta-Fictional Problems**

**A/N: I have… nothing to say here, except that nobody send me spoilers for "The Snowmen," I'm not seeing it until the 28****th****.**

**Thanks to: JoojooBrother, Paul, PersonBehindScreen, Ashlee Pond, lessthanthreedougie, FlyingLovegood123, TaliaJennings13-The77, Epic Emma 2017, Ptroxsora, Kudo Shinichi Tanteisan, and LilyLunaPotter142.**

**Next episode up Wednesday, the 26****th****.**

* * *

He woke up to tears on his face. It was not unexpected, although it was worrying. He had just relived some very bad days, of course his body was going to react. But he didn't like that he _had_ relived them: they were supposed to be buried deep enough that he didn't have to. If he'd expected anything, he'd thought he'd get memories of Voldemort in the graveyard, or Mark and James. Not – that.

The temptation to reach back through the link and talk to his other half was almost irresistible. Which was why he hauled himself out of bed and down the stairs to find Andromeda Tonks née Black futzing about in the kitchen and offer his assistances. He couldn't cook, but he was still able to lend a hand with the dishes, something Andromeda was very grateful for. Both of them were content to work in silence until Nymphadora Tonks fell down the stairs looking for him and breakfast, not necessarily in that order.

"You're still wearing the same clothes." Picking herself back up, she frowned at him. Her hair was pink this morning, although for some reason one eye was green and the other brown. She was already dressed, in a leather jacket, jeans and t-shirt combo that reminded him a lot of his ninth self, except more – feminine.

Still on edge – a night full of memories did not accomplish quite as much as a night of sleep, even for a Time Lord – he bit back the instant retort. "Yes," he said simply, and placed a bowl in the cupboard.

Andromeda sighed. "Good morning, 'Dora."

"Morning, Mum," she said instantly, half distracted. "Mum, why is he helping you?"

This earned her both a sigh and a raised eyebrow. "He offered." Left unspoken were the words _something you never do_, but they echoed in the kitchen regardless.

The younger Tonks groaned. This was evidently a regular topic of conversation. "_Yes_, Mum. I'm gonna steal your helper, if it's not _too_ much to ask." The tone of her voice suggested that it probably _would_ be too much to ask, at least from Andromeda's point of view, and the resulting debate would probably almost immediately turn into a spat.

With absolutely no wish to sit through one of those again – he'd had enough of that with Jackie and – and Rose – he turned and smiled charmingly at Andromeda. "Oh – ah – sorry, I told her – your daughter – we were going to have a talk – last night, needed to discuss it – sorry about that." Sometimes he fell over his own tongue accidentally. Others – not.

"Great!" Tonks latched onto his arm and began dragging him back up the stairs.

Smiling – _really_ smiling, for the first time in a while – he tried to look mildly inconvenienced. He suspected that he failed completely: It had just been so _long_ since he'd had anyone _enthusiastic_.

Tonks shoved him into the first room they came to, latching the door behind her. "There. Even Mum'll stay out now."

He ignored this, looking around the room quickly, crossing over to the window and taking a look out that, before seating himself in the desk chair. It was plainly her bedroom – one twin bed, an assortment of odds and ends, the wallpaper done in several shockingly garish shades of pink and purple that his sixth regeneration would have been proud of – but he couldn't figure out why she would have dragged him in _here._ Well, he could, but if this was going in _that_ direction, he was leaving.

Fortunately, it wasn't. Tonks flopped down on her bed, narrowly missing adding a new bruise on her shin. "You're the Doctor."

He blinked. He thought she'd have known that already, after the whole thing the night before with the Master, but apparently not. "Yes."

"But you can't be!"

Somehow, in nine hundred years of travelling around the universe, he had never had that reaction. "What?"

She shook her head. "It's not possible. You can't be _the_ Doctor. You're just _a_ doctor."

"What?" he said again, hoping to get something new out of her. This conversation was getting weirder by the sentence. She'd plainly heard of him, somewhere, but someone had her convinced that they were him, or something.

Her hair was flashing through the rainbow as she got more and more distressed, and it was edging at his mind where he'd heard of that before. "But you don't exist!"

"What." No, really, _what?_ She didn't think he _existed?_ He was pretty sure that he was real – although that was an identity crisis for another time – but why was _she_ so convinced – _what?_

"You're just a character in one of Dad's old shows!" Her hair was now a stubborn red, and he could have sworn there were sparks flying from her mouth.

He opened and closed his mouth once, before deciding to act like she was a companion and just let the words fly. "That – _no. _But it would – not possible. Another universe – again – stories. It could have crossed over, that's always possible – and – oh, I am so _thick!_" He was, although it all made sense now, and while the feel of two sets of information integrating always gave him a headache, it felt wonderful at the same time, because now he knew what was happening.

Tonks gave him a flat stare. "You're a character from a TV show."

"Yeah," he said, grinning, "And you're a character from a book. Problem?" Well, yes, there was, because he couldn't quite tell which one she was yet, but definitely a character.

It was her turn to gape at him. "What? No, look, I don't care who put you up to this, thanks for last night, but you can stop playing now. Quit mocking the poor half-blood with Muggle things and just go away!"

He frowned briefly. The books hadn't said anything about this depth of anger – then again, she had been a minor character at best. "No no no no," he said quickly. "Oh, I am so _thick!_" he yelled again, thoroughly enjoying himself. "_You're_ Nymphadora Tonks. You're an Auror and a member of the Order of the Phoenix. Your mum is Andromeda Tonks, your aunts are Bellatrix Lestrange and Narcissa Malfoy, you've got a cousin called Draco Malfoy – sorry about that, by the way, he will get better – you're an Auror, you're going to marry – oh dear, we're not quite there yet. Oops." He managed to rein in his mouth eventually, but really – this was almost like meeting Dickens! Except not at all. More like meeting Bob Cratchit.

"What are you _on_ about?" Tonks stood up, pulling out her wand.

The Doctor tilted his chair back, crossing one leg over the other. "Where did you hear about me?"

She snarled. "I keep telling you: _You're _not the Doctor."

He laughed. "Fine, then. Where did you hear about the Doctor?" As odd as it was, this really was an amusing conversation.

Grumpily, she sat back down on her bed, keeping her wand out. "A TV show called _Doctor Who._ It used to air on Saturdays, and Dad and I'd watch it together. But then it was cancelled, and besides, I moved out then and got my own place."

He tapped his tongue against the roof of his mouth, staring absently at the ceiling. "Your da – he's Ted Tonks, innt he? Muggle-born, am I right?" He held up a hand. "No, don't answer, of course I'm right. But something was different about him – he wanted to keep his culture to balance out his wife's – Black, very old pureblood family, must have had a lot of habits that she couldn't quite give up. Anyway, so he got a television and introduced her to something fun – a TV show, bit of science fiction, bit of fantasy, light-hearted – probably had horrid special effects – and then that was how he connected with his daughter. That's it! Oh, I am _good._" The front legs of the chair slammed down as he grinned. "But here's the question – why'd they cancel it?"

Tonks openly gaped at him. "What?"

The Doctor snorted, running a hand through his hair. "Oh, come on, you're not that daft. Well…" He scanned her. "Answer the question."

"No," she said, sounding somewhere close to sheer hysteria. "Who are you? How do you know that?"

_You're a moron, Doctor, you know that?_

Right. Confronting a young woman with a past that she had worked very hard to keep hidden, uncovering – without any visible effort – the inner dynamics of what was surely a very private family, all after the worst night of her life when she spent an hour or more in the hands of a psychopath – all in all, not perhaps the _best_ decision of his life. "I told you," he smiled warmly, "I'm the Doctor."

She was starting to shake, face pale and hair fading to brown. "Prove it." She hadn't put her wand away.

He flipped out the sonic screwdriver, pointing it at her bedroom door. It really was very easy to open the locks, and let the door swing wide, but it sure looked impressive.

"That – that's the sonic screwdriver," Tonks said hesitatingly. "It – why does it look different?"

He stared at it – no, still silver and bumpy and blue on the end – and then at her. "Wait – what companion?" When she looked at him in confusion, he shook his head. "No, no, no, come on, when the show was cancelled, what companion was I with?"

"Ace," she said quickly. "Big girl, leather jacket."

The Doctor swallowed. "I – I've been busy since then. Regenerated a few times – _blimey_, this is new, having someone who knows it all."

Tonks stared at him, hair slowly turning back to pink. "You're really – I mean, you're really _him_."

"Yeah. Yeah, I am."

She smiled. "Shouldn't make me feel better. It does, a bit."

He beamed at her, running a hand through his hair. "Right, so, why did they cancel it?"

Tonks shrugged. "No one really knows. It's this great big mystery, you know? Or it would be, if any one cared. There's talk about making a new series, but naught's ever come of it."

Groaning, he rubbed the back of his neck. "It doesn't make any sense!"

She blinked at him. "What doesn't make any sense? I mean, other than _all _of this – honestly, I'm having a conversation with a fictional, nine-hundred year old alien who looks exactly like an insane, _dead_ Death Eater."

He laughed again. "And I'm talking to a – a fictional character."

"What, I don't get a description?"

"Spoilers," the Doctor said airily. "And our timelines don't match up, at all, but someone had to have – coincidence? No, too unlikely."

Putting her wand away, she thumped him on the shoulder. "You know, I almost prefer it when you're talking ninety miles an hour – at least then you're saying something."

He made a face at her – she laughed. Sighing, he tried to explain. "There's – there's more than one universe. There's this one," he held out one hand, cupped, "And then there's mine." He put out the other hand, keeping them about shoulder-width apart. "Now most of the time, they're like this." He moved his hands one on top of the other, parallel but not touching. "And – and – and ideas, or thoughts, or concepts – call it what you will, but there's bleed-through. I'm the main character of a TV show here. You're a character in a book series in the universe I come from." He paused, trying not to let too much of his age show. "We've got two problems. One – they're not matched up. You're missing about a hundred-some years of my life – Ace travelled with my seventh regeneration, I'm on my tenth now – but I'm – by all indications – about three years before the end of the books."

She looked hopefully. "So you know what's gonna happen? Will we win?"

"No," he told her bluntly. "Oh – ah, no, I don't know what's gonna happen. My arrival changed things, and that's the second problem. See, usually the universes are like this." He held out his hands still cupped, one on top of the other. "But right now they're like this." His right hand clenched into a fist while the left wrapped around it. "My universe is trying to absorb yours, by shoving things into it, making yours more like itself. I'm not the only one. The man last night." He gave her a steady look.

Tonks paled. "The Master? It really was him?"

He ran through a half dozen lies and partial truths. "Yes. And Sirius Black is another Time Lord, in disguise."

"Who?"

"The Corsair," he said, ignoring the habitual pain. Two remaining Time Lords, in any of the universes, and they both hated him.

She frowned. "I don' know him."

He raised an eyebrow. "I lead a busy life. It's possible they were unable to cover that portion. Then there's – there's Jack, but he's new, from your perspective."

"Is – is it going the other way?" she asked timidly.

He gave this thought for a moment, finally shaking his head. "Don't think so. Shouldn't be, at least. This – nothing like this has ever happened before." He stopped suddenly, caught up in memories of when something much like this _had_ happened.

_Rose…_

"Well, it has. But there aren't any Cybermen wandering about, so I'd say it's already different this time," he finished with an air of false cheer.

Tonks looked at him. "I watched the show, Doctor. What happened that time?"

He shook his head, standing up and beginning to pace. "Doesn't matter. Something's different. TARDIS can't just smash through walls like that – well, she can, but not without me, so moot point – so there had to be a hole already. No, there's something else going on, something big, and it's not me."

"So how did the Master get here?" Tonks asked. She seemed to be drawing strength from him; her face wasn't nearly so pale, and she was sitting up straighter.

Winding both hands in his hair, he gave yet another head shake. "Followed the traces of my TARDIS. That's not it either."

"Jack, then." She looked up at him, eyebrows raised.

Both hands fell as he stared at her, beginning to smile. "Oh, you're _good._ So – how _did_ Jack get here? Dunno. How do we find out? We ask him."

Tonks smiled slightly. "Where is he?"

"Ah. Yes, well, that would be a problem. He's – ah – Voldemort has him."

To her credit, Tonks didn't flinch too badly at the name – he supposed that an hour's company with the Master had a tendency to scramble your fears – but she did give him a slightly despairing look. "He – You-Know-Who will kill him."

The Doctor made himself grin. "Jack's immortal. Long story. Voldemort – oh, don't do that – he can't kill Jack, it's not possible. Sort of. Anyway, so no answers there. And the Corsair – I know how he got here, and there's not a lot of help that way."

She grunted, pondering something. He opened his mouth, about to continue thinking aloud. "Don't say anything," Tonks told him. "I know you, you'll just babble until someone shuts you up."

He shut it again, grinning at the rebuke. It always took a while for companions to understand him; that was what made this one nice. He caught himself, at that. Tonks wasn't his companion, she was just someone who knew a bit more about him than most. He didn't take companions anymore. All that happened was they got hurt, or killed.

_Get a companion. You're dangerous alone._

He ignored the voice in the back of his head. It was right – but he couldn't take responsibility for others' lives again.

"You – you've read those books? The ones about – _us?_"

He nodded. "Yeah. Great books they were, too. Nice twist at – ooh. Probably shouldn't talk about that."

She glared at him. "Right, but if you've read those books, why didn't you think of that immediately? You didn't know who I was until I introduced myself, and you didn't know anything else about me, either."

The Doctor grinned at the ceiling. "You know what I like about you, Nymphadora Tonks?"

"Don't call me that," she muttered.

He ignored her. "You're brilliant, you are. Ask good questions." He could, if he wanted, watch the back of his mind readjusting to the idea of Tonks as a companion. He tried to ignore that too, but it didn't work quite so well.

She gave him a look. "You don't know the answer."

"I do!" he said, offended. "It's just – like when you learn a song as a child, but you don't really know what it means. And then you grow up and _years_ later you look back and figure out what you were actually singing. You learned the meanings pretty quick, it's just that songs and words are stored in two separate areas, and so you actually have to think of the lyrics as words and not just music to put it all together."

She blinked. "You store books and people's pasts in different locations?"

He gave her a long look. "I store _everything_ in different locations. Don't make the mistake of thinking me human." Metaphors were lovely things, but he really should stop making ones that involved his childhood. It only reminded him of things he really would rather forget.

"You didn't used to be like this," Tonks commented.

The Doctor spun around, jamming his hands in his pockets. "Things happened. I changed. Now – do you want to come with me?"

That shocked her. "What?"

He raised an eyebrow. "You've watched me, you know how this works. I don't travel alone. Bad things happen. Do you want to come?" He held out a hand, keenly aware that usually he had a TARDIS to show off, that now he had nothing to use but his mind and a screwdriver.

She looked at him, steadily making eye contact. Her mouth opened once, and closed rapidly. Finally she turned away, shaking her head. She wiped her eyes with one hand. "You – just – _Merlin._ I've dreamed about this, you know. Wished every day when I was a kid that you'd swoop down and rescue me. And now – _Merlin._" She shook her head again. "Yes. Of course."

He hadn't really expected any other answer, but that sentence – two sentences. Two sentence fragments – relaxed something in his hearts. "Brilliant," he said, grinning broadly. "_Allons-y!_"

Tonks gave him a look. "Where to?"

Well yes, that was a problem. "I dunno. Ah – ideas?" He wound a hand in his hair again.

She smiled. "Should we start with telling my parents that I'm about to wander time and space with a fictional alien?"

He raised an eyebrow, tucking his chin. "No TARDIS, remember? Stuck in the Department of Mysteries."

Tonks rolled her eyes. "Grumpy guts. Come on." She crossed to her door, taking a right to go down to the kitchen.

The Doctor followed, getting distracted half-way there. "Hang on – what's this?" He ran his fingers over the wall, outlining but not touching the crack in it.

"It's a crack," Tonks said with an air of annoyance. "You weren't this scattered before."

"I'm not being _scattered_," he muttered, pulling out the screwdriver. Flicking it out, he ran the tip over the crack. "You're right," he told her, refusing to turn around. "It is a crack."

He could _hear_ her roll her eyes in the pause that followed. Ignoring that, he touched his finger-tips to the crack itself, jerking back at the sizzle of energy that jumped out at them. "But the crack isn't in your wall."

Tonks wasn't stupid; climbing back up the stairs, she hovered behind him. "What's it in, then?"

"Everything," he said slowly. He bent down to take a closer look. "It's a crack in space-time, and it links to another crack in space-time. Touch this for long enough and you'll get pulled through."

She was frowning from behind him, he could tell from the way her breathing changed. "But – but that crack's been there forever."

He looked at her. "No it hasn't. It wasn't there when we came up. No, the crack just wants you to _think_ that it's old."

Tonks made a couple of odd noises. "One, how on _earth_ did you notice that? And two, since when can cracks think?"

"I'm not from Earth, that's how, but it pays to be observant, and it's not an ordinary crack," he rattled off. "But – I've got good news."

She snorted. "I've got a crack in space-time in my wall, a crack that'll eat anything it touches, and you've got good news?"

He straightened back up, scanning her again. "Ooh, sarcasm. I like sarcasm. Yes, I've got good news. I know where the crack goes. Wanna see?" The Doctor grinned.

"No," Tonks said instantly. "I wanna tell my parents and pack a suitcase and let everyone know that I'm going to be gone for a while and then we can go see."

Yes, that was one option, but it involved long explanations, and really, the Master was going to be tracking him down, which was something he'd been ignoring because of what it meant. So instead he clenched his teeth and placed one hand firmly on the crack.

There was a sizzle of energy that ripped through all of his systems and then he vanished.


	25. The Nativity Story, I

**Doctor Who, Special Series; Episode 6: The Nativity Story**

**A/N: Right. There were three things to put here… gimmie a sec…**

**1. I Worship Steven Moffat, your one-shot is up. It's called "A Single Rose Can Be My Garden – A Single Friend, My World," and is Episode 5, Chapter 3 from 10.2's POV. The 200****th**** reviewer gets a one-shot!**

**2. I **_**am**_** using arc-words for this series; they've already come up four separate times.**

**3. Title, due to complaints, has been changed: We are no longer "Harry Potter and the TARDIS," as it doesn't make sense to name the fic after a character that has yet to show up midway through. We are now "Weaken the Lock." More on this later.**

**Thanks to: Paul, Ptroxsora, Ashlee Pond, Suuki-Aldrea, FlyingLovegood123, LilyLunaPotter142, and JoojooBrother.**

* * *

Blinking, the Doctor stood up gracefully, straightening his jacket. "Well. This is new." It was mostly a sentence he liked, because it was so often true, but this time it happened to be rather spectacularly correct: he had never fallen through a crack in space-time only to come out in the middle of a castle. He tasted the air. As he'd thought. Earth, same time period, only now they were back in Scotland. Hogwarts. And it was _cold_.

Tonks exploded into reality behind him, swearing. "What the _fuck_ was that?"

He raised an eyebrow at her. "_Language_, Tonks. Didn't you say this was a children's show?"

"Not anymore," she muttered, disgruntled. "Where are we? Hold on – _when_ are we?"

The Doctor grinned. "No idea. Shall we find out?" Turning, he took off down the corridor.

With one last look at the crack in the wall – the one that matched identically with the one in her house – she began running after him. "Forgot about how much running there was."

He wasn't paying attention any more, having found what he was looking for: a window. Wiping fog off it, he peered out, and then gave up and just opened the thing. With his whole head outside, he began laughing. "Look! It's Christmas! Oh, I love Christmas, don't you?" He said this as he pulled his head back in, beaming at Tonks.

"Christmas," she replied flatly. "_Christmas._"

He giggled. "I know, isn't it great?"

The steady glare from her told him that no, it was _not_ great. For some reason. Personally, he rather liked snow, though he didn't get enough of it for his liking. And up in the middle of Scotland, pristine wilderness for a hundred miles in any direction, the snow was pure and wonderful.

Frowning at her, he took a step away from the window. "No, not great. Why isn't it great?"

Tonks continued glaring. "Doctor," she said, as if pointing out something painfully obvious, "It's _Christmas._"

Yes, he knew that. What was the problem? "Sorry – don't you have Christmas here? It was in the books but maybe they were adapted for my universe –"

"No. I mean yes, we have Christmas, but _Doctor_!" She seemed to be oscillating between shock and hysteria. "It was just _June_."

Oh, that made sense. "First time's a bit of a shock, innit," he said conversationally, turning back to the window. "And – I think it's even the same year. Should be, at least. That's what the crack said."

"_Doctor._"

Apparently he was being stupid again, although he couldn't figure out why. It really was a very simple first excursion, just a quick hop six months or so into the future, he didn't know why she was making such a big deal about it.

Tonks stepped closer to him, her hair steadily turning red. "My parents. They must think I'm dead."

"Oh." He blinked. He hadn't had to think about that for – _ooh_, a while, and it was odd to remember that other people had families that cared. "Ah. Well. It's only six months. That's not too bad, isn't it?" He'd been gone for a hundred years the first time, although admittedly that was only for him – for everyone else it had been two weeks. This was the reverse, interestingly enough.

She gaped at him. "You absolute _prat._ You couldn't have _warned _me, oh look, I'm about to touch a crack in space-time, you might wanna let your parents know, because you're gonna be _gone_ for six flipping months!"

He opened and closed his mouth several times. "I – I – I – you didn't have to _follow_ me!"

"Yes I did, you bloody _wanker_ 'cause who knows if you'd ever come back!"

The Doctor took a step back. "Oh." Well, yes, there was that, but surely he would have – no, he wouldn't, if he was really being honest with himself. He wouldn't have remembered one human girl, not with the Master running around.

She shoved his chest. "Don't you ever – you know, just _think_ for a minute before doing something? Or do you always jump in, _damn_ the consequences?"

He looked away, a muscle working in his jaw. "What's done is done," he said quietly, as much for his benefit as hers.

"Can't we go back? Touch the crack again?" Tonks asked desperately. She wasn't crying, not yet, but there were tears welling in her eyes.

Sadly, he shook his head. "No. No, I'm sorry. It's one-way only. Tonks, I am so, so sorry."

She slapped him. "Oh piss off, you wanker! Flaming _prat_ – I should have expected this, I just thought it would be longer before you did something so _incredibly_ stupid! Why couldn't you have just _waited _to indulge your damned curiosity?"

He rubbed his cheek slowly, wondering when he had ended up with companions who felt the need to hit him all the time. "A Time Lord can sense the presence of others."

"What?" Tonks stared at him, stepping back again.

He made eye contact with her. "With some effort, I can know where the Master is. And that means he can do the same." He stopped there, waiting for her to put it together.

Tonks paled rapidly. "Merlin. He would have killed us, wouldn't he?"

The Doctor swallowed, raising his chin. "He would have tried. I had to leave." Had to keep them safe the way he had so failed with Martha's family.

Tonks didn't quite buy this explanation, crossing her hands over her chest. "And it was _so_ urgent you couldn't have waited five minutes for me to tell my da?"

_Yes!_

He looked away again. "It wasn't a risk I wanted to take." Even if it meant Tonks was upset with him, he wasn't going to let that happen again. Wasn't going to let the Master get his hands on another companion's family.

"Alright then," she said calmly. "You're not forgiven, but –" She shrugged. "I kind of expected this."

That was… not expected on his part. Wonderful, but not expected. He beamed at her. "Brilliant. Off we go then. What do you lot do for Christmas?"

She shook her head. "You're a lot less focused than you used to be."

He snorted. "'S not a bad thing. So – gifts, trees, that sort of thing?"

That got a raised eyebrow and a snicker. "Yeah, 'course. You? Don't remember seeing you on Christmas."

The Doctor grinned cheekily at her. "The normal. Explosions, alien invasions, getting shot at. You know me."

She laughed. "Is that what I have to look forward to, then? No feasts or presents, instead I get Daleks and dead bodies?"

"Nah," he told her, mock seriously. "No Daleks. Can't say about the rest of it."

Tonks grinned back, shaking her head. "I didn't expect any different."

The air was split by a loud scream. Tonks winced, clapping hands over her ears. The Doctor perked up. "Ooh? What's that?"

"Only you," Tonks muttered.

He grinned at her. "Let's go find out, then!" He grabbed her hand and pulled her into a run, snickering at her struggle to keep up.

Tonks ended up leading him down to the Great Hall, through corridors he hadn't seen the last time he was here – had it really only been five days? Wow. He was busy, even for him. "The screams came from – oh my _god._"

The Doctor tried not to snicker at her change of focus and failed miserably. Stepping forward, into the Great Hall, he looked down at the large puddle of blood on the floor.


	26. The Nativity Story, II

**Doctor Who, Special Series; Episode 6: The Nativity Story**

**A/N: Hi everyone! OMG I WATCHED THE CHRISTMAS SPECIAL. *squees* *dies* Anyway…**

**Thanks to: LilyLunaPotter142, FlyingLovegood123, Ptroxsora, TaliaJennings13-The77, Serendipital, and Suuki-Aldrea.**

**One-shot prize to the 200****th**** reviewer. I **_**do**_** reply to every review, even the short ones. Are you all getting them? Some of you who usually reply to my replies aren't, and I'm just paranoid enough to need to check.**

* * *

"Whose – whose is that?" Tonks asked from behind him.

The Doctor crouched down, frowning. "Not sure yet. Working on it." Giving one last glance to the blood, he straightened up, looking around.

The scream had come from a girl, about fifteen, black-haired – Indian? – who was now sobbing into the shoulder of an identical girl. His mind supplied names. Padma and Pavarti Patil, although he didn't know which was which. A number of others – students, teachers – were coming into the room with varying expressions of shock and horror on their faces.

"If everyone could please clear a path – _ah_." Albus Dumbledore walked through the crowd, wearing robes of a deep salmon colour. "Mr Crouch. Why am I not surprised."

The Doctor grinned, sticking his hands in the pockets of his black suit. "Hello, Albus. Long time, no see – for you, I suppose. You're here about the blood?"

Dumbledore, standing across the pool from the Doctor, looked stern. "Did you have anything to do with this?"

"Me?" The Doctor made a valiant attempt at looking innocent and failed miserably, to judge by Tonks' snickers. "No, nothing. Well, unless you count showing up. Some people do – gets a bit annoying, that."

From the look in Dumbledore's eyes, he didn't entirely believe this explanation. "Miss Patil – Misses Patil, I take it you were the first ones on the scene?"

The girl who wasn't crying nodded. "Yes sir. Pavarti came in first and saw the blood and screamed. And then everyone else."

The Doctor raised an eyebrow. "So the Great Hall was completely empty when you came in?"

Padma looked at him, paling. "Sir?" she asked Dumbledore, "Sir, is that Barty Crouch?"

Now that was just offensive! "No," the Doctor said, drawing the word out. "Definitely not. I'm the Doctor, by the way."

Dumbledore cleared his throat. "Miss Patil, please answer his question."

Shaking, Padma stepped back, pulling her sister with her. "No one. C-completely empty."

"Brilliant. Well, not really. Well, a rather bad sign actually, but at least it means we're not going to be stuck chasing red herrings for half the day." The Doctor grinned, looking around the circle. No one grinned back.

Dumbledore elected to ignore this comment, choosing instead to stare past the Doctor at Tonks. "Auror Tonks. How nice to see you again."

From behind him, Tonks shuffled her feet. "Yeah. You too, Headmaster. Sorry 'bout," there was a pause, "Missing things. And stuff."

Dumbledore's attention returned to the Doctor. "I had words with a – shall we say – mutual acquaintance, and am prepared to accept that you are not Barty Crouch. Whether you are what you claim to be is another matter altogether, and one that we can discuss later."

The Doctor stared at him for a moment. "Oh, you mean Siri – oops. Right. He's still – still – right. Well – blood. A lot of blood, actually. About – oh – two bodies worth. Two human bodies, important to be clear about these things."

Sighing, Dumbledore gave him a stern look. "Whoever you are, Doctor, currently you are in a school full of children. Is there anything _relevant_ you can learn from the – spill, before I have Mr Filch clean it up?"

The Doctor raised an eyebrow in return, crouching down. He touched a finger to the blood and then licked it slowly, ignoring the shocked gasps and mutters. Only Tonks and Dumbledore were silent. Standing back up, he looked at Dumbledore. "It's not two children, if you're curious. More like fifty. Well, I say fifty, I mean forty-three. Forty-three different humans, all under eighteen, fifteen of them female, twenty-eight of them male. Most stressed and afraid, a few confused. One unconscious at the time. Anything else you wanted?"

"You got all that from a lick of blood?" Tonks asked in disbelief.

He shrugged. "Yeah. Not hard, not compared to some of the things I've identified."

Tonks gave him a look. "You're showing off."

Okay, maybe he was. So what? He had a new companion, of course he was showing off.

Dumbledore coughed slightly. "Doctor, Auror Tonks, if I could have a word with the two of you in my office. The feast will be held on time –"

"Ooh, we get a _feast_?" the Doctor said, grinning. "I like feasts."

Tonks punched him.

"But I must ask you to remain out of the Great Hall until that point," Dumbledore said over the interruption. "Thank you for your cooperation." With an impeccable sense for drama, he stepped around the puddle and led the way out of the hall.

Glancing at Tonks, the Doctor followed, hands in his pockets. He'd read the books and seen the movies, but actually being in Hogwarts was – he grinned, bouncing along the corridors. It was new, it was different, it looked nothing and everything like it did in his mind, it was the first _new_ thing he'd seen in a very long time.

The Headmaster's office looked just like it did in the books, opening to the words _Fizzing Whizzbee_, to the Doctor's unending amusement – it was _just_ like the books, this was absolutely _wonderful!_ Dumbledore settled himself behind his desk as the Doctor examined the room. Inevitably he began fiddling with the silver devices, picking one up and setting it down as soon as another had caught his attention.

Something cooed at him and he spun, staring in delight at the phoenix. "Aw, look." He grinned broadly, swaying over to the bird and holding out a hand for examination. "They're quite a bit calmer in this universe, you know. At home the Earth'd be gone like that with one of this age. But you're a pretty boy, Fawkes, aren't you?"

Fawks cooed again and rubbed his head against the Time Lord's hand.

"Yes you are, you gorgeous bird." The Doctor ran his hand gently over the bird.

Dumbledore relaxed noticeably. "If you are quite done seducing my phoenix, Doctor, perhaps you could explain? Forgive me, but you do not seem the type to go to ground for six months."

The Doctor pulled away, turning to face Dumbledore. "Ah – no. I'm not. The type, I mean. I don't do the quiet thing."

Tonks snorted. "Stay on track, Doctor."

He grinned at her. "Right. We discovered – well, really, _I_ discovered, Tonks here mostly just got in the way –"

"Oi!"

The grin grew broader. "The Tonks household has a crack in one wall, a hypo-spacial temporal fold. It connects that wall with one in Hogwarts, only six months ahead. Well, I say six, I mean five months and twenty four days. Anyway, we fell through."

Tonks glared at him. "What he means, Headmaster, is that for us it's only been twelve hours since the battle in the Ministry."

"Ah." Dumbledore steepled his fingers. "Would you be willing to take Veritaserum, Auror Tonks? I'm afraid that my trust in others is not what it used to be."

She straightened. "Yes, Headmaster, I would."

The Doctor raised an eyebrow. "Something's changed."

"What do you mean, Doctor?" Dumbledore asked.

Humming to himself, the Doctor held out one hand. Fawkes hopped on to it, stepping sideways along the arm to his shoulder. "What did the Corsair tell you, Albus?"

Dumbledore shot him a look. "Sirius Black claims he assumed that name when he met you. He, at least, is willing to take Veritaserum."

"Clever," the Doctor told Fawkes. "I cannot risk telling you anything from the wrong time. _Tell me_, Albus, what the Corsair has said." He turned his attention from the phoenix to Dumbledore, letting just a hint of his strength slip through.

Tonks snickered quietly. "The two of you could spar until You-Know-Who knocks on the gates and not get anywhere. Headmaster, it might make things easier if you just answer his questions. He's gonna be cryptic until it suits him to explain."

The Doctor raised an eyebrow. "That's not very nice."

"It's true, though."

He shrugged. "Point."

Dumbledore cleared his throat. "Sirius informed me that the two of you met when you were young, that you used to be good friends but that you had a fight a long time ago, that you ran into each other just earlier that day, and –" He paused, looking faintly incredulous. "That you are not human, and are, in fact, a time traveller."

_Good boy, Corsair. Just enough to get me through this. Wish you would have told him everything, but I wouldn't get that lucky._

"Good enough," the Doctor said quickly. "Right, so I know a few things about – about this, and what's happening here, but some things have changed since my arrival, and a lot of it's too dangerous to talk about because I could send you down paths that you never otherwise would've taken, and none of it matters now anyway. What's happened in the last six months?"

The Headmaster sat quietly through all this. "We have a new Minister for Magic."

"Who?" Tonks got that out a millisecond before the Doctor could.

Dumbledore looked at her over his glasses. "Pius Thicknesse, who, I believe –"

"_Damnit!_" the Doctor yelled, punching a bookcase and cutting off whatever the rest of the sentence was going to be. Shaking his hand out – damn that hurt – he ran the other through his hair. "Bloody hell," he said, quieter. "I shouldn't have gone through the crack. He's had six months to do – _whatever_."

Tonks shot him a look. "Told you so."

He glared at her. "Shut. Up. Albus." The Doctor spun to face the other man, anger flickering through him – most of it directed at himself, for his own stupidity. "What has he done?"

Dumbledore looked solemn. "You have a past with the Minister?"

Tonks snickered, to his great displeasure. "You could say that."

Ignoring her, the Doctor said, "Yes. He and I were friends, growing up. We – we – we fought, far worse than the Corsair and I ever did. Or could. He – he hates me now, or he thinks he does. Whatever he's up to, it's directed at me."

"Are you certain of that?" Dumbledore asked.

The Doctor groaned, tangling the fingers of one hand in his hair. "Yes. No. He's always after me, but he doesn't have to go direct."

"What is he up to, Headmaster?" Tonks stepped forward, placing a hand gently on the Doctor's shoulder.

He let her, shoving his hands in his pockets. The last time he'd seen the Master, the other had been Head of the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. How he was Minister for Magic, years before Fudge was scheduled to leave office. Things were changing faster than he was prepared for, and he had to find out more.

Taking the glasses off, Dumbledore looked first at Tonks, and then at the Doctor. "He has convinced the populace that it is the Order of the Phoenix who wishes to bring down the Ministry, and not the Death Eaters."

The Doctor said nothing for a minute, just standing there silently. "Clever," he said eventually. "Very clever of him, putting you on the defensive. _But_," he said, beginning to smile again, "You have me. And that could make the difference."

"Who are you?" Dumbledore asked.

Grinning, the Doctor rocked back on his heels. "I'm the Doctor. And I'm the only help you're likely to get at this point, so I wouldn't suggest doing anything stupid."

Dumbledore slowly smiled back. "My apologies. _What_ are you?"

"I'm a Time Lord. I'm not human, and I'm not anything you have here. I'm not even sure why I'm a wizard – it's not like anything we have at home." He also wasn't sure that he wanted to be, but he had enough control not to bring that up – Albus probably wouldn't take it well, and he _probably_ should keep him happy.

Tonks raised her eyebrows. "Well, maybe you're a wizard because we don't have anything like Time Lords."

He smiled, turning to her. "Now _there's_ a thought. Hold on to that, it might be useful later. So – I'm a Time Lord, the Master's in control of Britain, and you don't trust me. This'll be interesting."

Stepping forward, Tonks shifted uneasily. "Headmaster, ah – I know I'm probably not in the Order anymore, but I – I just wanted to ask – sir, my parents?"

Dumbledore shook his head and then sighed. "You are correct, I have had you removed from the roster. Your parents were informed that you were missing, presumed captured – I am afraid that I did not quite believe you at that point," he said to the Doctor.

One eyebrow shot up, but he – for once – remained quiet.

"They were moved to a safe house, where they remain now. You are welcome to get in contact with them, if you wish, although I cannot allow you to visit them," Albus continued.

Tonks nodded slowly. "I – I understand. If you could let them know – I'm alive. I'm with the Doctor. He's real. Dad'll know what that means."

"Of course," Dumbledore said genially.

Someone knocked loudly on the door. "Sir? _Sir?_"

The Doctor grinned cockily. "Now who could that be? Tonks, door?"

She shook her head at his arrogance, but opened the door regardless. In ran a boy, about fifteen, black hair, green eyes, and glasses.

The Doctor's grin grew wider than ever. "Harry Potter," he said, the grin narrowing to a smirk. "I've read all about you."

Harry spared him a glare. "Professor Dumbledore, sir, there's people, downstairs – they're from the _military._ Hold on." He spun, wide-eyed, to stare at the Doctor. "Crouch? No – what the _hell_?"

"Nope!" the Doctor said, popping the _p_. "I'm the Doctor. Nice to meet you."

Dumbledore smiled slightly, staring at the air over Harry's shoulder. "He has given me an explanation that I find acceptable. He is known as the Doctor."

Harry's mouth opened and closed rapidly. "The _Doctor?_ What kind of a rubbish name is that?"

Tonks coughed, looking down. "And _that's _his first question on meeting you. About your _name_."

"Oi!" the Doctor said, making a brave attempt at looking offended. It was rather spoiled by the grin threatening to spread across his face. "It's a lovely name!"

She laughed. "It's a bit odd, though. Not even really a _name_, so much as a _title._"

He tried not to look smug, straightening the lapels of his jacket. "Well, _yeah._ It is now." He cocked his head, looking at Dumbledore. "You don't need to be so careful, you know. He's not possessed."

"What?" Harry looked between the two, appearing utterly confused. "What? I'm possessed? What?"

The Doctor looked at him. "No you're not. That's the whole point. You're not possessed, it's impossible.'

Dumbledore made eye contact with the Doctor. "Are you certain?"

"Some things were affected by my arrival. But the rules on which the universe runs? Never." He kept his brown eyes locked with Dumbledore's blue ones.

The Headmaster sighed. "This would be easier if I could see." His slight head nod told the Doctor precisely what that meant.

He shook his head. "No. Time Lords are psychic – I've got strong defences. Stronger than any you lot could get through."

Tonks snickered. "As much fun as the two of you are having, Potter and I are getting pretty confused."

"In – in – in the – the future there used to be," the Doctor said, waving a hand wildly, "Voldemort couldn't possess Harry. And that's why Albus wouldn't look at him – er – wouldn't make eye contact with him, because he was worried that Moldy-shorts – can I call him that? – was inside _your_ head." He poked at Harry's skull.

Harry jumped back. "Don't – don't touch me."

Dumbledore raised an eyebrow, faintly smiling. "Is it at all possible to keep this discussion focused?"

"With him?" Tonks asked. "No."

Harry's head spun back and forth between Dumbledore and the Doctor. Finally settling on Dumbledore, he asked, "Sir? What – what's going on?"

The Doctor looked at him oddly. "You're not as angry as you were in the – in the other timeline."

"He's probably still in shock," Tonks quipped.

This got her an odd look. "Why?"

"He only just met you. It's a bit shocking at first."

Dumbledore cleared his throat. "Doctor – the blood."

Hauling his dazed gaze away from Tonks – she thought he was _shocking_? _Why_? – the Doctor stared instead at Dumbledore. "Yes. Blood. Right. Well, obviously someone is trying to run a portion of your student body through blood control. Or maybe they just like making a mess. I'm not honestly sure yet. Because that's not nearly as important as what Harry was talking about – who's downstairs? What military? Do you even have a military?"

"How should I know?" Harry burst out. "Maybe the wizarding world _does_ have an army. But _I_ wouldn't know, because nobody thinks to tell _me_ anything!"

The Doctor looked at Tonks. "He's better now, thanks."

She grinned. "Well, if Potter doesn't know anything, and the two of you aren't getting anywhere discussing the blood thingy, maybe we should all just go downstairs and take a look at these military types."

Harry mouthed the words 'these military types' a couple times, but managed to keep anything else from coming out.

The Doctor wasn't so successful. "Who said we weren't getting anything accomplished?"

Tonks rolled her eyes. "Come on, Time Lord. Honestly, you should be happy about this – now there's even more people for you to show off to."

This was true enough, which was why he let her grab his arm and pull him out of the office. It didn't have anything to do with his growing fondness for the young woman. No. Nothing at all. And if he just kept telling himself that, maybe he could avoid another Donna or Martha or _Rose._ Maybe.


	27. The Nativity Story, III

**Doctor Who, Special Series; Episode 6: The Nativity Story**

**A/N: Um… My inbox exploded last night. I'm famous! Sort of. Hugs and kisses to you all, you make me so happy. Some answers in this chapter (I think. I'm not really awake yet). Also, at some point (I feel like it was around chapter 20?) we passed 10,000 views! Yay! Now we're at 13,133!**

**Thanks to: I Worship Steven Moffat, Twicked (who reviewed **_**every**_** chapter in one night) (and also got the 200****th**** one-shot prize) (anyone who's reading but not reviewing, this is an excellent way to make the author love you to bits), Kudo Shinchi Tanteisan, FaeBreeze, TaliaJennings13-The77, Suuki-Aldrea, Ashlee Pond, FlyingLovegood123, Paul, LilyLunaPotter142, and The Poet's Daughter. **

**Fun fact of the day: Matt Smith writes fan fic. Thought you'd wanna know.**

* * *

By the time they made it to the Great Hall, the Doctor was in front – alright, maybe it had devolved into a race at some point that he had _not_ cheated in, no matter what she said – which ended up being a _very_ good thing.

"Guns. Why do you lot always have guns?" He skidded to a halt, both hands raised.

The soldier in the black uniform kept his gun trained on the Doctor. "Ma'am? Skinny, suit, brown hair?"

The – well, she couldn't be anything _but_ a soldier – soldier in the brown uniform held both a gun and a wand, both pointed at him. She remained silent.

"Ask him one thing: The first time we shared a bed, what happened?" called out a shockingly familiar voice.

The Doctor had to open and close his mouth several times before anything would come out. "Martha? Martha Jones?"

"That's an awfully personal question," Tonks muttered from behind him.

He shrugged, starting to grin. "Not really. Not when the answer's that we talked a bunch, I chattered about the – the companion I'd just lost, insulted her several times by accident, and then fell asleep."

"Out of the way – Damnit, Jenkins, for once in your bloody life, follow orders, and _get out of the way!_"

The black uniformed soldier was pulled roughly out of the narrow passageway, to be rapidly replaced by Martha's grinning face. "Doctor."

He rushed forward, ignoring the other soldier, to sweep her up in a hug. Letting her go slowly, he put both hands on her shoulders and backed away slightly. "UNIT."

"Yes," she said with a slight smile. "I thought you knew that."

The Doctor quirked an eyebrow up. "There isn't a UNIT in this universe."

She shrugged, the smile turning into a grin. "There is, actually. Turns out the books don't tell you everything – or even _most_ things. But you're right – I fell through the universes, me and my team. Someday I'll get you to explain that."

"Oh," he said faintly. "Good. You do know me, then."

Martha laughed at that, looking up at him happily. "Always, Doctor. Black? That's a new colour for you, isn't it?"

He shrugged. "Eh. Didn't have much of a choice."

Tonks cleared her throat – good, he'd been wondering what she was up to, it wasn't like her to be silent for that long. "Who is this?"

"Oh – ah, Nymphadora Tonks, may I introduce Martha Jones? She used to travel with me. A while ago." A while in his terms meant more than two days. He couldn't afford to hold on to memories any longer than that.

The two women shook hands around him. "Nice to meet you, Tonks," Martha said warmly. "Always good to find another one of us."

Tonks grinned back. "Well, someone needs to keep him in line."

And that was quite enough of _that._ "What are you doing here?" the Doctor asked, poking Martha. "You're in the wrong universe."

Martha smirked at Tonks – she _would_ know what he was doing. "I know. My team and I were chasing an alien. It fell through a rift and we followed."

"Oh," the Doctor said quietly. "That's bad. That's very, very – not good. No vortex manipulator, you just – fell through?"

She nodded. "Yep. Fortunately, we came through at UNIT headquarters. Doctor, I'd like you to meet Colonel Alastor Moody, currently senior UNIT officer on the ground in Britain."

The brown-clad soldier stepped back and out of the way, allowing the Doctor to enter the Great Hall, grinning in delight. Moody. He got to meet _Moody_.

The former Auror looked exactly like he had been described in the books, missing eye, broken nose, and all. The only difference was that he was wearing a brown version of the UNIT uniform, with a gun holstered on his right hip. His eyes – both of them – locked onto the Doctor and narrowed. "_You_." Lightning quick, he flicked out the gun, pointing it unerringly at the Doctor.

"No!" Martha jumped in front of him, pulling out a gun of her own. "No – I know they look the same, but he's not Crouch, I swear! He's the Doctor, he's an alien, he's going to save our asses again, and I will _not_ let you kill him!"

The Doctor frowned at her. "What? Why do you have a gun – _Martha,_" he added disapprovingly. "Guns. Really?"

"It doesn't shoot bullets, Doctor," she said, groaning. "It shoots a sleeping agent combined with a tracker device. One shot from this and he'll go down instantly, wake up thirty minutes later, no significant side effects."

He frowned. "Yes, but _still_. It's a weapon. Pointed at a man who has a very valid reason to be upset with me, if he'll just wait long enough for me to explain it."

Martha didn't move, her gun aimed at Moody. "Doctor, for _once_ in your life, shut up. There's more going on here."

Okay, maybe this was a different Martha. Maybe she was cloned or mind wiped or something, because _his_ Martha would never do anything like this.

_Or maybe,_ the little voice pointed out, _she just discovered that the world is a much darker place without you in it, and changed accordingly._

Gun held steadily in one hand, Moody pointed his wand at Martha. "Major Jones, there is not a court in the world that would condemn me for killing this man."

"I swear to you, sir, he is _not_ Barty Crouch. He looks the same, but he's not the same man. If you want proof, I can give it to you, but not until you put the gun down." She sounded three seconds away from snapping, tired and under stress and way too _done_ with whatever was going on.

Behind the frozen tableau, Tonks shifted her weight. "Auror Moody?"

Something softened in Moody's one eye. "Tonks. I don't want to know what you're doing here. Now – Major. You have three seconds to get out of the way before I start shooting."

"No." The Doctor ran out of patience with this – whatever it was. "No, you won't. If you do _anything_ to hurt Martha, you will regret it." He reacted the same way to anger, every time: first scowling, then shouting, and finally _this._ Quiet, absolutely in control on the surface, but with a storm brewing beneath, ready to burst out. All of his rules, irrelevant, in the face of the rage burning under his skin. Martha was _his_ and he would willingly sacrifice every one of his carefully formulated morals to protect her.

Moody glared at him, evidently sizing him up, one old wolf to another. His grip tightened on the gun.

"Alastor, wait!"

Twisting, the Doctor looked straight into Albus Dumbledore's piercing blue eyes.

Relaxing infinitesimally, Moody's real eye looked at Dumbledore, his fake one remaining on the Doctor. "Albus, you know who this man is."

"Not who he appears to be," Dumbledore said smoothly. "It is a very long story, old friend, and one I would be happy to share with you later, but rest assured – this man is _not_ Barty Crouch. Who he _is_ is a much more difficult question to answer, but he is working against Voldemort."

Moody nodded sharply. "Very well Major. Show me this proof."

Relaxing – well, not really _relaxing_ so much as shoving all of his negative emotions away again, back in the darkest corners of his mind where they couldn't hurt anyone but him – the Doctor grinned. "Well that's easy enough." He tucked a hand into his suit pocket and whipped out the sonic screwdriver. "What do you want me to do?"

Lowering her gun slowly – Moody still hadn't moved – Martha shot him a look. "No. No technology. It'll explode."

"Really?" the Doctor asked, peering at his sonic screwdriver in fascination. "The books didn't say anything about that. Can we test it?"

Martha groaned. "No. Don't test it, Doctor. Just – wait. Colonel, have you ever had to take a pulse?"

One of Moody's eyebrows shot up. "A few times, Major." He had tensed slightly when the Doctor pulled out the sonic screwdriver, but otherwise both his gun and wand remained pointed at Martha.

Still very tense, Martha said quietly, "Doctor, put the screwdriver away. He needs to see your wrist. Colonel, if you could just take a moment – I need you to count his heartbeats for me."

"Martha," the Doctor said, grinning as he tucked the screwdriver back into a pocket, "Have I mentioned that you're brilliant?" He held out his right hand, palm up, pulling the jacket and shirt sleeves back from his wrist.

She smiled. "Not recently." Turning, she placed two fingers on his wrist. "A bit slow, even for you."

He shrugged, careful not to dislodge her touch. "After nine hundred years of it, getting a gun pointed at me isn't really exciting anymore. I've got to admit, though," he added, looking down at her, "The wand thing is new."

"Colonel?" Martha said. "All you need to do is feel his pulse. That's it."

Notably, Moody holstered his wand, keeping the gun out. Keeping that trained on the Doctor, he touched two rough fingers to the Time Lord's wrist.

_Thud-thump THUD-THUMP thud-thump THUD-THUMP._

The four beat pattern of a Time Lord. Impossible to confuse with anything else.

Moody jerked back, both eyes focusing on the Doctor. "Four – two hearts?"

Dumbledore made a faint noise that may have indicated interest.

The Doctor nodded, trying not to grin. "Yep. Don't have two of anything else, though. _Well_, kidneys, but that's all humanoids really. And eyes. Got two eyes. Ears, usually. At least they're not as bad as my last body's. Nostrils."

"You can stop now," Martha told him, grinning. "We got the point."

He beamed at her, shaking his sleeves back down. "Brilliant. So. What's UNIT doing here, and why's ol' Mad-Eye Moody with UNIT?"

Martha stepped out of the way, leaving the four of them – her, the Doctor, Moody, and Tonks – standing in a loose circle. "It's a bit of a long story. What's going on here?"

"Also a long story," Tonks said quickly. "We should probably do this somewhere private."

Moody nodded approvingly at her. "And I want an explanation of why you look identical to Crouch. Albus, you got a moment?"

Dumbledore smiled, shaking his head. "I'm afraid not. My students will want an explanation – as will I, at some point. What is the Ministry doing in Hogwarts?"

To everyone's surprise – including the Doctor's – Moody grinned harshly. "I'm not working for the Ministry. I've been a UNIT soldier for years. Recruited during the first war."

"And what, exactly, is unit?" Dumbledore asked.

Both Martha and the Doctor opened their mouths, but Tonks got there first. "United Nations Intelligence Taskforce, a secret organization keeping the aliens from taking over the Earth when the Doctor isn't here."

Moody shot her a look. "Even for you, Tonks, that was odd. No. UNIT is protecting the world from the insanities of wizards. The Statute of Secrecy hasn't worked for centuries; we're the only ones keeping the rest of the world from cluing in."

"Really?" the Doctor asked, feeling like he'd gone long enough without talking. "How very fascinating. So we've got two identical organizations in two _separate_ universes doing almost exactly the same thing: keeping the majority of the populace from learning about a smaller, very dangerous portion of it."

Moody raised an eyebrow. "Very astute of you, Doctor. Tonks, where would be a good place for a chat?"

Tonks ran a hand through her hair, which was now short, spiky, and pink. "There's an old Transfiguration classroom we can use, though. There won't be anyone in there."

The Doctor cocked his head. "Why?"

She grinned. "Peeves."

"Really?" Maybe he could stay in Hogwarts if it was always going to be this exciting. Dumbledore, Harry, Moody, and now Peeves! Beaming, he stuck his hands in his pockets. "Lead on, then."

Laughing – at him, he suspected – Tonks turned and walked back down the corridor, the Doctor following close behind.

"Squad A, with me," Moody barked. "Squad B, secure the crime scene." Brown-clad soldiers began moving to his orders.

Martha shook her head. "You lot, follow me. Keep guns _holstered_." The black uniformed soldiers smiled, falling into a loose formation behind her.

* * *

"Just to be clear," the Doctor said, pacing around the room. "You and your squad fell through a crack – the same crack that your homicide suspects took – and ended up in Diagon Alley in September."

Martha nodded.

He rubbed the back of his neck. The whole situation was bizarre and unfamiliar and strange, and he really didn't like any of it. "And the pools of blood here match the ones at – at UNIT headquarters, only no one's missing here."

She nodded again.

"And they put _you_ on it," he said in a tone of faint disbelief.

She laughed. "Yeah, I know. Just a dinky little murder case, but I was bored. They keep trying to put me on desk duty and I keep trying to evade it. Seemed like a good case for me to work on."

"And _you_." He spun, pointing at Moody. "You work for UNIT. Well, this world's UNIT, anyway. And since there's now a war on here, UNIT headquarters got relocated to Geneva, and you got put in command of everyone on the ground, task: to keep the mundanes from finding out everything about aliens. Wizards. Whatever."

Moody nodded. Over the past half hour he had gone from silent-and-intimidating to silent-and-intimidated-but-unwilling-to-admit-it to silent-and-amused. The silent part had remained pretty much constant – the Doctor assumed it was because he was gathering information – with the noticeable exception of a brief discussion on Barty Crouch.

The Doctor turned back to Martha. "The cracks are important. I fell through one, skipped six months and jumped three hundred miles. Or so. You fell through one, remained exactly _where_ you were, but missed a dimension and went _backwards _almost exactly fifteen years. Then there's Jack – either he found one or his vortex manipulator did, but I haven't had a chance to talk to him about any of that. So what do we need to do?" He jammed his hands in his pockets, pacing again. "Talk to Jack. How do we do that? Find Voldemort – oh look, you lot don't flinch. Good. Flinching is annoying." He grinned around the room.

Tonks was muttering the words 'flinching is annoying' under her breath.

He ignored this. "So we need to find Voldemort. Alastor – any thoughts?" He paused, frowning. "Ooh. I can call you Alastor, can't I? Or would you prefer Colonel? Or Moody, honestly, I'm not fussy."

"I don't think it's _your_ fussiness that would be the problem, Doctor," Tonks said.

Moody's face twisted slightly, in something that might have been a smile. "Alastor is fine. I haven't found anything about Voldemort's current whereabouts, but we'll keep looking. And sir -?"

The Doctor groaned. "_Don't_ call me that. Please."

This time it definitely was a smile. "The blood. Someone who didn't stop at murder before is attacking Hogwarts students. I didn't get to teach much, but I'd sure as _hell_ like to still protect them."

"Right!" The Doctor grinned, switching topics easily. Honestly, he didn't care _which_ problem he got to solve, he just wanted to do _something_. "We've got forty-three children missing some blood. Let's go find out why."


	28. The Nativity Story, IV

**Doctor Who, Special Series; Episode 6: The Nativity Story**

**A/N: I get really fun reviews when I introduce a new character. I should do it more often… except then I'd have to keep track of where (and when) everyone is, and that gets really complicated really fast.**

**Thanks to: Ptroxsora, Suuki-Aldrea, Twicked, Paul, FlyingLovegood123, Ashlee Pond, and LilyLunaPotter142.**

**Fun fact: Clara was born on the same day (November 23) as the air date of the first episode back in 1963. Chew on that for a while.**

* * *

Alastor Moody, to the Doctor's simultaneous annoyance and delight, had brought sixteen UNIT soldiers with him. Martha had four. With them and some – admittedly reluctant – help from the Hogwarts staff, a quick search of the castle was done.

To the Doctor's _unending_ displeasure, nothing was found. All the students were present. None of them reported missing gaps in their memory or strange wounds. There were no bodies lying anywhere. How was he supposed to solve this if there _were no clues_?

"I'm missing something." He'd ended up in the Great Hall again, mostly because it was the only place with _any_ clues, and was expending energy by pacing in circles around Tonks. "Something big, something obvious – oh, I am _brilliant!_" He spun to a halt, hands fisted in his hair. "Martha!"

Rolling her eyes, Martha poked her head back into the Great Hall. She and Moody had been occupying the entrance hall, bouncing ideas off each other. "What?"

Grinning, the Doctor ran up to her, spinning in a circle. "Blood! And what year is this? Book _five!_ It's Umbridge, Martha! Dolores Umbridge is involved in this."

She blinked. "That – that makes a disturbing amount of sense. The blood quills?"

He nodded. "Yep! But – but someone's working with her." He deflated, jamming his hands in his pockets. "This didn't happen in the books. Something's changed – your murder suspect."

"Suspects."

He raised an eyebrow. "Really? How many?"

She shook her head. "We caught two, but the locks on their cells opened somehow. They both escaped. We've been tracking them since then."

He chewed absently on his lower lip. "Right, well, they're here. Probably hiding with Umbridge somehow – did you search her rooms?"

Martha gave him a glare. "No. Dumbledore told us to stay out of staff rooms until we had evidence."

"Is he setting us _up_ to fail?" Tonks asked to the room at large.

The Doctor shrugged. "Possibly. Tonks, where's the Defence prof's office?"

"We're throwing evidence out the window then?" Martha said as Tonks began to lead the way out of the room.

Exiting the Great Hall first, the Doctor came to a dead halt as he stared across the entrance hall to the open doors. "I don't think we're gonna need to worry about that."

Bracketed by two men in Auror robes, Umbridge sneered at him. "Oh, Barty Crouch, there are a lot of things you won't need to worry about ever again."

The Aurors – or Auror-fakes, the Doctor wasn't sure which yet – shuffled menacingly. There were easily ten of them, although there could have been more standing outside the doors. They were all identically armed and clothed – red robes and wands.

The Doctor briefly considered setting UNIT on them, discarded this as involving too much loss of life, contemplated altering the past so that they didn't come to Hogwarts armed, discarded _that_ as threatening to the survival of the universe, pondered getting Dumbledore involved, discarded that as well as being too risky, and finally settled on doing what he did best: talking. "Hello. I'm the Doctor."

Umbridge gave him a look like he was an idiot. "What are you doing here?"

"Helping," he said off-handedly, strolling forward to examine the Aurors. "That's what I do, help people. And look at this!" Whipping out the screwdriver, he ran it over one of the Aurors, who stared at him in some discomfort. The readings were – ooh – interesting. "Your Aurors aren't human. Or even close to it. Been a while since Krillitanes, hasn't it? Have I met any of you lot before?"

The Aurors collectively remained silent.

The Doctor gave them a steady stare, completely ignoring Umbridge's attempts at interjecting herself back into the conversation. "Oh, that's boring. And you don't really wanna make me bored. Nothing good happens then. So – blood. What do you want with blood?"

"Now see here!" Umbridge shrieked. "You can't just go – you can't do that! These men are here on official Ministry business and you will stand aside!"

He ignored this as well. "Blood blood blood b-b-b-bloood. What are you _doing_? Not blood control, not sacrifices, you're using it for something but it's okay that it comes from many different sources – _no._ Yes. Really? No. Not possible. You wouldn't. Not here."

The Auror closest to him took a step forward. "Perhaps we should have this conversation in a slightly larger room."

"Good point," the Doctor said, refusing to move. "Martha, is the Great Hall clear?" Not taking his eyes off the Auror, he waited until the shuffling of feet died down.

"It is now," Martha replied. "Colonel Moody, I defer to you."

Moody cleared his throat. "Squads A and B, secure the Great Hall. Martha's squad, cover the Doctor until he's safely in the room. Doctor – at your leisure."

The Doctor nodded, turning his back on the Aurors and following Moody's UNIT soldiers into the Great Hall.

It took a couple of minutes to get everything arranged to the various officers' satisfactions, but the resulting layout was interesting – and complex – from the Doctor's point of view. He stood at the point of a V, Martha and her soldiers in a line to his left, with Tonks and Moody on his right. Moody's soldiers filled out the remainder of the V. The Aurors – twenty five of them, in total – surrounded Umbridge in a semi-circle. They were standing closest to the door.

"Right," the Doctor said, putting his hands in his pockets. "What do Krillitanes want here?"

Umbridge gave him a _very_ odd look. "I am senior undersecretary to the Minister. I don't answer –"

The Doctor rolled his eyes, pulling out the psychic paper. "I think you'll find that you do, actually." He waved it in front of her, before quickly sticking it back inside his jacket. "Dolores, where did you find these Aurors?"

She blinked at him – dazed by the psychic paper, good sign of a weak mind. "I – they're part of the security detail assigned to me as High Inquisitor."

"Oh _honestly_, I'd forgotten how stupid these titles were," the Doctor sighed. "Been a while since I read the books. Tonks – no one expects the Spanish Inquisition."

Tonks snickered, trying not to crack up.

The Doctor grinned. "So they just showed up in your office, claiming to be from the Minister, but didn't offer any proof."

Umbridge opened and closed her mouth. "They did – I remember them – didn't they?" Looking confused, she turned and stared at the Aurors.

"Doctor. We have been expecting you." The lead Auror looked directly at the Doctor.

He raised an eyebrow. "Really? I wasn't expecting you lot. What are you doing here?"

The Auror-Krillitane smiled slightly. "Why should we explain ourselves to you? The last time you saw us, our explanations did not help."

He frowned, beginning to pace back and forth between Umbridge and the gap between Tonks and Martha. "Last time – last time. When was that – _ooh_. Sarah Jane and Rose and – and – and K-9! You were trying to crack the Skasis Paradigm." He rubbed the back of his neck. "But you all died there, I made sure of that."

"I survived," another Auror put in. "I escaped. I brought word."

The Doctor groaned, running a hand through his hair. "So I've got Krillitanes again. You going to try to convert me?"

The lead Auror gazed at him steadily. "No. We are not stupid."

"Could have fooled me," the Doctor muttered. "This is your last chance," he said louder. "Explain your plan and I will try to help you. You do not want to alienate me."

The staring continued. It was getting obnoxious, more than discomforting. It took a lot more than just glares to discomfort the Doctor. "I do not think we need to worry about alienating you, Doctor. You will not like our plan."

_This is quite possibly true. Still, have to try_.

The Doctor gritted his teeth. "Explain your goals, and I will _help_."

"No," the lead Krillitane said. "Then you will try to foil us. Besides," he continued with a slight smile, "Don't you already have it all figured out?"

He raised his chin. "I would like some verification. Blood. You're using human blood to alter yourselves again, aren't you? Bats not quite cutting it anymore?"

Tonks frowned. "Doctor – they don't look like bats."

The Doctor looked sceptically at the Aurors. "Course they don't. They're wearing morphic illusions. Don't wanna scare the locals after all – at least not until they're ready."

The Krillitane gave a regal nod to acknowledge this point. "We will not be altered."

"No, of course not, violate all the rules of evolution – _no_. The children. You will _not_." He took a step forward, standing directly in front of the lead Krillitane. "You're going to use their blood to form your children."

Behind him Tonks retched slightly.

The Krillitane nodded again. "Yes, Doctor. Is this really such a bad goal to have? All we want is to continue our species in the best mould possible, and – as you have shown us – humans are surprisingly adept."

"Yes, yes, fine," the Doctor said with a wave of his hand. "Continue your species, base it off the humans – whatever. Just _don't do it here!_"

This got him a sceptical stare. "And why not? After all, there are so many children here for us to use as moulds. So many more of our offspring will live here. If we tried elsewhere, it would not be nearly so successful."

Tonks was not the only person behind him making nauseous noises now, as more and more soldiers realized what they were discussing. He ignored them. "Then change your methods. If you've gotta kill to reproduce, change how you're doing it!"

"They are not Krillitane children. Why should we care?"

Tonks took a step forward. "Because they're _alive_, you jerk! They deserve life just as much as you do."

The Doctor shook his head. "Krillitane morality says that only Krillitanes count as people. To them, you lot are so much meat."

The lead Krillitane maintained eye contact. "We would spare you and yours, Doctor. The Krillitane people acknowledge your strength and power. We would extend to you life, and offer you the chance to donate your genes to the Krillitanes."

"Me and mine include _every person_ on this world. Go somewhere else," the Doctor replied coldly.

Raising his chin, the Krillitane stepped forward. "And why do you care, Doctor? These humans are no more your kin than they are ours."

_My kin…_

Icy rage flickered behind the Doctor's eyes before he managed to damp it down again. "Because they are _alive._ Go now, and never return."

"No." The lead Krillitane drew a wand and pointed it at the Doctor. "We can use this human magic. We are here, and we _will_ breed."

Martha cleared her throat. "Doctor? Just to clarify, they wanna reproduce? And to do so, they need blood? Blood from children? Enough to – to kill them?"

The Doctor nodded, not breaking eye contact. "Righto. Oh, I'm never saying that again. But yes. The Krillitanes need human blood to transform their children into something more human-like. But it takes – ooh – two or three bodies worth for each potential child, and even then it doesn't always work. They've been using the blood from Umbridge's quill, but now that's run out and they need more. Children – human children work best, because their DNA is closest to the way it was when they were conceived."

Tonks made a strangled noise. "Why – why would they _do_ that? It doesn't make any sense, to have an entire species have to kill just to have children."

"They don't _have_ to kill, that's the whole point," the Doctor said. "Only when they want to change again."

The Krillitane coughed. "You are delaying, Doctor. Either cease to bar our path or remain for us to use your blood as well."

The Doctor stuck his hands in his pockets. "No. You are not going to breed here."

"We do not make idle threats."

He finally broke eye contact, sweeping the entire circle. "Neither do I."

The lead Krillitane looked at him steadily. "Very well. Attack at will." The last sentence was spoken far too quietly for its import.

Every Auror drew their wand and prepared to attack. Behind him, he could hear the click of guns leaving holsters. Both sides waited for the other to move first.

It was Umbridge who started it, predictably enough. She had been side-lined and quiet, too confused to make any contribution earlier. But the announcement of a fight had jumpstarted something in her, and she raised her wand, pointing it at Tonks. "_Stupefy!"_

Tonks blocked it silently with a wave of her wand, but the damage was done. A UNIT soldier shot off a non-verbal spell that struck a Krillitane. The air was suddenly filled with curses, counter-curses, and the occasional bullet.

The Doctor fell to the ground, eager to get out of the way. Martha joined him, her gun out but not cocked. "Now what?" she asked under the sounds of battle.

"I don't know." He backed up, evading the feet of a UNIT soldier.

A body fell near him in a brown uniform. He stared at it blankly for a minute, the tally in his head momentarily confused.

_May as well begin again. New time, new count. One, then._

Someone squealed in pain and fear. He looked up, eyes wide, and then scrambled to his feet, Martha belated imitating him, still on his left side.

The lead Krillitane had hold of Tonks, a wand pressed to her neck painfully hard. "Tell them to stop, Doctor."

Shaking, the Doctor raised his hands. "Lower your weapons! Now!"

One by one, the UNIT soldiers lowered their guns and wands, slowly holstering them. Martha was one of the first, her gun slipping back into its holster on her waist. Moody was the last, only reluctantly uncocking his gun.

"Good," the Krillitane said. "You were killing us. She may return to you, Doctor, so long as we have your word that your soldiers will not attack us anymore."

Completely pale, the Doctor nodded stiffly, once. "You have it."

The lead Krillitane released Tonks, shoving her roughly back at the Doctor. Hair gone limp and brown, she stumbled behind him, breathing shakily. "Sorry, Doctor. Seems to be a pattern, the getting threatened thing."

He forced out a smile that failed to reach his eyes. "You had your warning," he said calmly to the Krillitanes. "You failed to listen. This is your last chance." Lightning fast, his hand darted down and plucked Martha's gun from its holster. Cocking it, he aimed it at the lead Krillitane. "Leave now. Reproduce without killing. Do _not_ threaten the humans again. And you will live."

"You would not. You are the Doctor. You do not kill."

His gaze was cold and steady. "How far do you want to push me? Do you agree to my terms?"

The lead Krillitane met his stare without blinking. "No."

"Fine then." Without changing expression, he shifted the barrel of the gun and fired.


	29. The Nativity Story, V

**Doctor Who, Special Series; Episode 6: The Nativity Story**

**A/N: I do so **_**love**_** Chekhov's Guns, don't you? More notes at the end.**

**Thanks to: Paul, FaeBreeze, PersonBehindScreen, Twicked, FlyingLovegood123, Ptroxsora, Ashlee Pond, JoojooBrother, Suuki-Aldrea, LilyLunaPotter142, and Kudo Shinichi Tanteisan.**

**Fun fact: David Tennant (Tenth Doctor) is married to Georgia Moffett (Doctor's daughter Jenny), whose father is Peter Davison (Fifth Doctor). They have a daughter. Does anyone want to draw that family tree?**

* * *

He'd suspected, but he wasn't certain until the small bullet-like object hit the ceiling and exploded.

_It doesn't shoot bullets._

_No technology. It'll explode._

The tracking device was a lump of nanotech. The Great Hall ceiling was one of the largest and most complicated webs of magic in existence. The two did not react well.

"_Run!_" The Doctor spun, shoving at Martha and Tonks. "Get out! Back door, behind the table"

He didn't take stupid companions. Both of them immediately took off, headed for the high table. He mentally thanked every god he had ever heard of for the descriptions of Hogwarts in the book being fairly accurate. There _was_ a door behind the teacher's table, and even if it only led to a meeting room, it was still going to be safer than the Great Hall.

Especially when he lifted the gun again and fired it three more times, each hitting the ceiling and bursting in a scatter of stars. The roof shifted and groaned.

Looking around, he caught Moody's eye and jerked his head towards the back of the room. Moody only barely managed to keep from saluting and led his men off at a quick run. The Krillitanes had not moved, instead staring at him blankly.

"We are not savages, Doctor, to be afraid of the sky falling," the lead one said.

Raising the gun one last time, he grinned. "You should be." The last two pieces of complicated nanotechnology collided with the ceiling.

Six chunks of the best electronics humans could make. One web of magic as complicated as humans could get it. The explosion was enormous, and not precisely bounded by the laws of physics. He stared at the ball of flame for a moment before his brain kicked back in. Running for the back door, he ignored the sounds of Krillitanes dying, from the flames, from the percussive blast, from the shards of stone falling from the ruined ceiling.

Martha and Tonks grabbed his arms and pulled him to safety beyond the threshold as the structural integrity of the Great Hall gave up the fight and collapsed with a roar and cloud of dust.

Panting, he twisted in their grasp to look at the remains. There wasn't much left of the Great Hall – only the two short walls were fully standing, while the roof was entirely gone – and the floor was covered in rubble. It was impossible to tell if any of the Krillitanes were still alive.

"Dumbledore won't be happy," Tonks said, starting to cough from the dust.

He shook his slowly. "Doesn't matter. If the Krillitanes had succeeded in breeding…" The Doctor sighed, standing up. "Well, it's over now."

* * *

If this was what adventures with the Doctor were really like, Tonks wasn't sure she wanted to continue. Sure, the face-off in the Great Hall had been fun for a while. But then Roberts – who had been an Auror with her, and was also apparently an UNIT soldier – and four others she didn't know had died, along with all the Krillitanes, or so they thought. The remaining soldiers, along with willing student help, were working on clearing the rubble, looking for bodies.

That wasn't the worst bit, though. No, the worst bit was trailing along behind the Doctor as he chattered and bounced and generally made a nuisance of himself, and wondering how he could be like this. There were five humans _dead_ back there, and he was still as chipper as ever. And the look on his face as he watched the roof fall on the Krillitanes, with no chance for them to escape – she shivered. He hadn't cared, that was the worst part. He hadn't cared that he was killing them, rather the opposite in fact: he had _gloried_ in it.

"This is why he takes companions," Martha muttered in her hear as they stood in the entrance hall watching the Doctor squee over Professor McGonagall. "He needs someone to remind him of mercy."

Tonks shivered again. "But most of the time – he seems so _nice._"

She nodded. "He does – and most of the time he _is_. But he can get caught up in it, caught up in the power. And then he forgets." Martha sighed, looking at the Doctor. "Took me a while to figure that out. I only really got it after joining UNIT and facing that decision for myself."

"Why – why is he so _happy_ now?" Tonks asked. The Doctor was trying to explain quantum mechanics and the implications for Transfiguration to McGonagall, with no great success.

Martha shook her head. "He's not. He's ignoring it, repressing what happened. It's a common survival trait, after some big disaster," she said conversationally. "He's just worse about doing it than most people."

Tonks swallowed hard. "He'd have to be." She watched him, trying to combine these two visions of the Time Lord: the saviour and the killer. "Someone has to stay with him, though. May as well be me."

"Hold onto that thought, Tonks," Martha whispered. "Hold on to that when all the rest of the world has gone to hell. Because he _is_ worth it, even when he does things like this. He is so, so worth it."

She nodded. "I know."

"Doctor!" One of Moody's soldiers ran into the entrance hall. "Sir, some of them are alive!"

* * *

That became a new problem: not all of the Krillitanes were dead. Three of them were classified as "alive and salvageable" by Martha, who turned out to be a practicing doctor, among her other skills. Dolores Umbridge, to the Doctor's unhidden annoyance, was also still alive, although injuries to her back made it doubtful that she would ever walk again. And then there was the child –

"It's not possible," the Doctor proclaimed, pacing restlessly across a newly cleared patch of floor. "Not possible."

Tonks attempted vainly to conceal a snicker, perched on a slightly more stable pile of rubble. "Evidently it _is_, so come up with a plan already."

Martha held the young Krillitane gently, staring into its brown eyes. "You're right, Doctor," she said quietly. "It's not possible. Yet here he is, and his parents aren't in any position to care for him."

Tonks stood up, looking at the – the thing. In some ways it was cute, sort of. Definitely humanoid, with pale grey skin, low-set protruding ears, no hair, and a pair of stubby – although, judging by the adults, fully functional – wings. It – he – squalled, displaying a mouth already full of teeth.

Martha clucked at it, holding out a finger. It grabbed the appendage with two small arms, trying to bring her hand to its mouth. "Doctor, what do baby Krillitanes eat?"

Running a hand through his hair, he spun to face her. "How should _I_ know? Usually –"

"Usually," Martha said cuttingly, "You leave before you have to confront these kinds of problems. Doctor," her face softened. "I know. Helping this child survive will not bind you to him. You will still be able to leave and wander, with only Tonks's limitations to slow you down. But look at him! He needs your help to _live_."

Something dark and horrible flashed through his face. "Then let him die. They all die in the end, why not let it happen now?" He turned away, striding over to the wall. Leaning against it, he covered his face with one hand.

Tonks glanced at Martha, who avoided her gaze. Sighing, Tonks followed the Doctor, waiting for him to relax. "It's not your fault."

"They died," he said in a half-whisper. "They died and I could have prevented it. Their strands are _gone_ now. They're not coming back."

"I know," she whispered just as quietly. "But you could help this child."

He turned to face her. He wasn't crying – it would have been better if he was. He was just pale and drawn. "Why should I? It will die, regardless of what I do. They all did."

She had the feeling that he was talking about more than this one battle, but that didn't matter. What mattered was that the Doctor was – not _sinking _into depression, so much as _throwing_ himself at it wholesale and he had to be stopped. Without thinking too much about it, she reached up and slapped him across the cheek.

The Doctor stared at her, rubbing his jaw.

"You done now? 'Cause there is a _child_ over there, Doctor, a child who will _die now_ if you don't get your head out of your arse and go help. So quit your bloody pity party and go _do_ something about it." She crossed her arms over her chest and glared up at him, wishing not for the first time that her abilities would let her change her height.

He blinked once, and then again. "Oh," he said very softly. "Right." He moved like he was going to hug her, stopped, settled for patting her shoulder, and awkwardly walked back towards Martha.

To her credit, Martha acted like this was perfectly normal behaviour. The terrifying thing for Tonks was that it _might_ be; she didn't know if she could deal with the Doctor going dark every other day. "He's not more than a day old, but growing very fast, I'd say about ten times as quickly as a human child. Is that –"

"That's normal for Krillitanes," the Doctor said calmly. "He'll continue maturing rapidly until he reaches the approximate developmental state of a human five year old, and then pause there until he receives a sequence of hormones from his cluster. Perfectly normal, aren't you little guy?" He beamed down at the Krillitane, scratching him behind his jaw.

Martha nodded, shifting her weight slightly. "Good. And who's gonna raise him? Not me, that's for sure."

He looked up, still smiling slightly. "His parents, of course. You're gonna hire them to work for UNIT."

Martha shook her head. "No. Not happening. How do we know they're not just going to turn around and attack again?"

His smile held absolutely no warmth. "Because if they do you can shoot them."

Tonks frowned. "Since when has that been an option?"

Now the full force of that glare was turned on her. "And what would you suggest I do? Let them go? They'll just return to trying to take over the world. Kill them? The child'll die without parents. This way, they've got a chance at life. If you've got a better plan, I'd like to hear it."

She tried not to shiver. Shaking her head, she said, "But is shooting really the answer?"

He frowned, hesitating for a moment. "Fine. Don't kill them, Martha. Just lock them up until I can ship them back to their home world."

Martha nodded. "When you get the TARDIS back, you'll do that?"

"When I get my TARDIS back, we're all getting out of here, leaving this universe behind," he said flatly. "Everyone who came from our universe – the Krillitanes, the Master, you – I'm taking all of them back. Gonna close the holes between universes. Again," he finished quietly.

Tonks bit her lip. "That – that means you're gonna leave, as soon as you have the TARDIS? And what about me?"

He looked at her, face softening. "I – I – Oh Tonks, I'm so, so sorry."

She swallowed. "Oh. That's fine then. Alright. I – I'll just – we need a place to stay. I'll go talk to the Headmaster 'bout that." Trying very, very hard not to cry, she made her way out of the Great Hall.

Behind her, she heard the sounds of a brief scuffle, and then Martha's voice. "_Tact_, moron. How could you have spent all that time with Donna and not learnt any _tact_?"

* * *

_Next time on Doctor Who – Episode 7: A Mad Man With a Box._

"_Hello, Doctor."_

"_You. Again."_

"_Me. Again. Oh, must you be so _boring_?"_

…

"_They're gonna blow up the Earth, and they won't listen to you. Really, the only thing they're waiting for is for their weapon to charge, otherwise we'd already have a death toll in the millions."_

…

"_I will _not_ die on this stinking planet. Do you understand me? Do whatever you have to – kill the stupid things – but I _will not die_."_

"_I won't let you."_

"_Good. Don't let the potatoes kill you. That's my job."_

…

"_They're shooting at us! Why are they shooting at us?"_

"_Well, maybe it's because you're trying to land a vessel inside their spaceship."_

"_But – come on, just hold it together – but I didn't _do_ anything! I just tried to land and then they started _shooting_ at me."_

"_Maybe they've heard of you."_

"_I should hope so. Otherwise this is going to be a lot more difficult."_

…

"March_, prisoners!"_

"_Aw. We've been demoted."_

"_Well, can't go downhill from here."_

…

"_Honestly! Look, you know me. I'm the Doctor. I'm not someone you wanna piss off, and destroying the Earth__ would be a _remarkably_ efficient way to do it."_

* * *

**A/N: Doesn't that seem like a good place to leave you for a while? *sigh* Here's the problem: Family. They took up a lot more of my time over the past month than I was planning. In theory, at this point, I'd be done with Episode 7, and also have finished writing my novel. In actuality, I'm still short about 20k on the novel, and Episode 7 is only half-way done. Originally, I was going to take a week off and post Episode 7 on the regular schedule starting Saturday the 5****th****. Now the plan is to take two weeks, work **_**only**_** on WtL during the first 12 days in January, and post Episode 7 starting on the 12****th****. **

**I'm really, really sorry about this, but I **_**swear**_** I'm not abandoning this. The plot-bunnies are really enthusiastic about Episodes 7 and 8, so they won't let me go anywhere. So yeah. Next chapter up on Saturday, January 12****th****.**


	30. A Mad Man With a Box, I

**Doctor Who, Special Series; Episode 7: A Mad Man With a Box**

**A/N: Hello again! I'm back! The novel is **_**done**_** (Not really sure how that happened, but okay), Episode 7 is not **_**quite**_ **done, although I'm almost there, and Twicked, I haven't actually started your one-shot. Oops. Something else was supposed to go here, but I've now completely forgotten what it was. Ah well.**

**Thanks to: Paul, Dark Dark Angel, iwright, Suuki-Aldrea, NightSand, Kudo Shinichi Tanteisan, TaliaJennings13-The77, Twicked, Ashlee Pond, LilyLunaPotter142, Ptroxsora, and FlyingLovegood123.**

**Fun fact (Okay, not really a **_**fact**_**, but still): Contrary to internet rumour, **_**none**_** – see that? NONE – of the former cast has confirmed or denied a return for the 50****th****. You can all stop freaking out now. We don't know who's coming. All of the articles that begin "Billie Piper Not Coming Back To Who" or "John Barrowman Says 'Yes' to Doctor's 50****th****" invariably end up quoting the actors involved as saying that they haven't been asked yet. So **_**please**_** stop telling me that Tennant or Eccleston is/isn't returning. We don't know.**

**Okay. Rant over. On with the episode!**

* * *

It was the next day. Walking the halls of Hogwarts, trying to avoid Harry – who was disgustingly cheery now that Albus was talking to him again – Martha, and Tonks, the Doctor reflected on how it really shouldn't have been the _next_ day, but preferably several days after – New Year's sounded nice. Albus had, predictably, been a little bit miffed that the Doctor had blown up the Great Hall, but almost immediately had been distracted by the alien bodies. It had taken forever to get things cleared up enough for supper, and then he'd had to explain himself – alright, he'd gotten Martha to do most of the talking – to far more people than he wanted to think about, including Umbridge, who was showing all the signs of recovering enough to walk with the aid of a cane.

This left him a little annoyed, but far more annoying was the fact that he was now _stuck_ without any way to leave, and the instant the Master had any free time, he was going to come and find him, and that was going to be very bad, and he really needed to get out of this _stupid_ castle before he went insane.

This last had probably already happened, given that he was getting bored of _Hogwarts_, but he ignored that portion of his mind. What was more important was that he'd already been there a day, and that was more than enough time for the Master to track him down, if he wanted.

Without paying much attention, he'd ended up in the Great Hall again, where the remaining Krillitanes were helping to clear the rubble. They were cooperating, which was about the only good thing going on.

"Doctor!" Martha ran up, holding out a cell phone. "Honestly, do you have any idea how _impossible_ you are to find? It's for you."

He gave the device a doubtful look. "Who is it?"

She gave him a glare. "He won't say. Just insists he needs to talk to you. No, I don't know how he got the number. Yes, I'm pretty sure the universal capacities are only supposed to work from my end. No, I don't recognize the voice. Just take the phone."

Grinning, he grabbed the phone from her hand, flipping it open.

"Hello, Doctor."

He blinked. "You. Again."

The grin from the other end of the line was audible. "Me. Again. Oh, must you be so _boring_?"

"Hello, Master," he said reluctantly.

Martha gasped quietly. He made a shooing motion with one hand. No need to have her listening in and maybe ending up involved in whatever sadistic choice the Master had come up with today.

There was a pause from the other end of the line. "Are you alone?"

He exited the Great Hall quickly, heading up a flight of stairs and down two halls. "Am now."

"Good."

He frowned, shifting the phone to his other hand. "Why? What are you up to?"

"Me?" There was no chance in the _universe_ that the Master could successfully fake an innocent voice, but he seemed determined to try regardless.

The Doctor rolled his eyes, wishing vainly that Martha had a video phone – it would make this so much easier. "Yes, you."

The other Time Lord sighed. "Very well, although I think we're skipping a few acts of this play. What would you give to get your TARDIS back?"

He almost dropped the phone. "What?" His voice squawked – oh Gallifrey, now he sounded like he was going through puberty again.

"Must you make this boring?" came the response. "What would you give to get your TARDIS back?"

"Anything." The word came out before he could hold it back. He wasn't sure he _wanted_ to take it back. "Within reason," he qualified eventually.

Laughter. "Nice try, Doctor. I have your TARDIS key. You'll do whatever I want to get it back, won't you?"

_Maybe_.

"No," he said, hoping that sounded a lot more confident on the other end of the line.

Apparently it didn't; more laugher echoed out of the phone. "Liar."

The Doctor shuddered, jerking his chin up. "What do you want?"

"What if I said your soul in exchange? Or, better yet –" A truly disturbing giggle came from the other end.

He swallowed. "Quit it. Why did you call me?"

The Master sighed in an over-exaggerated fashion. "Fine. I – ah – wanted to offer you a deal."

The Master was offering _him_ a deal. Something about this stank. "No."

"Wait!" For the first time, the Master sounded desperate, off-kilter almost. "I – I – _fuck_. How do you do this? I need you to do something for me."

The Doctor blinked in confusion. "What?"

The sound of grinding teeth came out of the phone. "_Please._"

"What?" This didn't make any sense. The Master _never_ said please. Ever. Not once, in nine-hundred years of chasing and being chased had the other Time Lord even come _close_ to the word.

The other end of the line was silent for a long while – 4.59 seconds. "I need you."

"_What._"

"I'm coming up there with a squad of Aurors. I want to see you and your companion – and _no one else_ – in front of the stupid castle thing –"

"Hogwarts," the Doctor said tiredly, trying to regain _some_ control over a conversation that had rapidly passed into the surreal.

If he concentrated, he could visualize the disgusted face the Master was making at that point. "Whatever. I will give you the key, and in return you will convince the Sontarans to go away."

_Oh._

A small part of the Doctor's brain decided to catalogue everything about this conversation, so that he could repeat it to himself at length the next time the Master tried to blow up the Earth. A much larger part presented every terrifying fact he'd ever known about Sontarans, and how likely this expedition was to kill him. A third part jumped around in glee at the thought of getting his TARDIS back, no matter the conditions. The last part squashed the others by pointing out that none of this was true, it was all just a trick to get him to face the Master outnumbered again, and the end result would be the same as on the _Valiant,_ except that he didn't have a handy telepathic network to patch in to.

All of this flashed through his head. "Yes," the Doctor's mouth said, while his brain was otherwise occupied.

The Master made a small choking noise. After a brief pause, he continued. "Ah. You _are_ intelligent. Perhaps this will not be as boring as I thought."

This was good, because a large part of the Doctor's mind was currently berating the rest of itself for being moronic. "Oh. Good. Ah – you're coming to Hogwarts?"

"Do _try_ to keep up, Doctor. Yes. Right now, in fact. My time is – limited, you might say."

The Doctor didn't appreciate the implication of stupidity. "Why – the Sontarans. They're gonna blow up the Earth, and they won't listen to you. Really, the only thing they're waiting for is for their weapon to charge, otherwise we'd already have a death toll in the millions." Were there millions of humans on this planet? Never mind, a problem to deal with later.

There was a pause from the other end of the line. "Not quite the way I would have put it, but essentially correct." A sharp click came through, followed by the dry static of a disconnected line.


	31. A Mad Man With a Box, II

**Doctor Who, Special Series; Episode 7: A Mad Man With a Box**

**A/N: The first reviewer to correctly guess the Arc Words for this series gets a cameo! Also, based on the length of my drafts for this episode, _A Mad Man With a Box_ is going to be 7 chapters, rather than the regular 5. Hope you're not _too_ upset. :D**

**Thanks to: **

**Fun Fact(s) (That are actually related to the chapter): David Tennant (The Doctor) is 6'1". John Simm (The Master [earlier regeneration]) is 5'9". I have cast Andrew Scott as the new Master – he also played Moriarty – and he stands 5'8". Guy Henry, meanwhile, plays Pius Thicknesse in the movies – who is, remember, actually the Master in disguise – and is 6'4".**

* * *

The Doctor sighed, and went to find Tonks. Martha had to stay and protect her soldiers, but Tonks didn't have any such restrictions; also, he wasn't sure that Martha was _his_ anymore, not in the way that Tonks was.

Barely four minutes and thirty nine seconds later, the Doctor was standing restlessly on the lawn in front of Hogwarts, Tonks behind him. "You're just gonna trust him? After everything he's done? How do you know he's not lying or something?"

Giving up on the whole standing still thing, the Doctor began to pace. "No, still no, and I don't."

Tonks had a look on her face that meant this didn't make any sense. "But then – why?"

"Because I don't have any other option," the Doctor said. "If he's telling the truth, I'm the only hope this planet has. If he's lying he'll still come here, to try and kill me, if for no other reason. By pretending to believe him, I can delay the outright attack." And he hated it, he hated making these choices, but it was true. The Master wouldn't hesitate to raze Hogwarts if he didn't find the Doctor waiting for him as promised, and anything the Doctor could do to avoid that was an act to the good.

A cluster of wizards Apparated outside the Hogwarts gates. Four red-robed Aurors surrounded a taller man wearing a neat black suit. The Doctor, trailed by Tonks, walked out to the gates, staying just inside the Hogwarts wards.

"Doctor," the taller wizard said, stepping forward. "Do you like it?" He spun, raising his arms.

The Doctor looked him up and down, not needing the feel of Time warping around him to tell that this was the Master. He'd seen the Time Lord's other appearance briefly in the Department of Mysteries, but this was a longer, better look. "Got a bit of a height complex, don't you?"

The Master declined to answer. "And Nymphadora Tonks. How nice to see you again."

The Doctor raised an eyebrow. "I thought you had a timeline."

Sighing, the other Time Lord pulled out a Yale key on a piece of ragged string. "I do. Thirty minutes to arm their machine."

"From now, or from when you talked to them?" the Doctor asked. It took every ounce of his willpower not to reach out and grab the key.

The Master rolled his eyes. "From now, of course."

The Doctor shrugged. "Had to be sure. Don't wanna run out of time midway through. Be a bit unfortunate for you lot down here."

This actually sparked a shiver in the other Time Lord. "Are you done?"

"Almost. Why can't you send the Corsair off?" The Doctor raised an eyebrow, trying to find the trap. There had to be one, there always was one when dealing with the Master – unless he really was as terrified as he looked. Which was possible. Which meant that the Sontarans had far better weapons than this Earth did. Which was bad.

Something pulsed in the Master's jaw. "I can't know if he will return."

Hanging silently in the space between them were the words _I know you will._

"Listen to me," the Master said abruptly. He grabbed the Doctor's arm tightly, staring down at the shorter man.

Not, the Doctor wanted to point out, that he was shorter by _much_, but this disguise was a solid eight inches taller than the Master's actual body, which put him three inches above the Doctor. Horridly unfair, he thought.

"I will _not_ die on this stinking planet. Do you understand me?" The Master was trying to be intimidating, but all the Doctor read was fear. "Do whatever you have to – _kill_ the stupid things – but _I will not die_."

Pain shot up his arm from the grasp – he wasn't sure if the Master knew he was hitting pressure points, or if it was just accidental, but it still _hurt_ – he looked deeply into the other's eyes. "I won't let you."

"Good." Eyes dark, the Master pressed the key into the Doctor's hand. "Don't let the potatoes kill you. That's my job."

He could feel the TARDIS trying to reconnect with him through the key. It felt like he was on the verge of flying, just about to step off a cliff and spread his wings. Grinning, he pulled free of the Master's hand. "Careful. I might think you care."

The Master almost smiled, almost laughed, almost – _felt_. His mind flirted with the edges of the Doctor's. Then he turned away, beckoning to the Aurors, and Disapparated.

"Do – do you love him?" Tonks, silent until that moment, stepped closer to him.

_Yes no maybe once not anymore always forever never_

He ignored this, grasping the key tighter in his hand, reaching through it for his TARDIS, searching for her. Great big complicated event in space-time, shouldn't be that hard to find. Mercifully, she wasn't.

Their minds connected and he was whole for the first time in _years_. She was there again, her presence wrapping around his, the only being in the universe larger than a Time Lord. She materialized around them, the familiar _vwoorp_ doing as much as anything else to soothe him.

Relaxing for the first time since he'd woken up in that hallway in Hogwarts, dressed in another man's clothes, he opened everything and vented the built up energy into the TARDIS. Energy poured out of him, not visible on the human spectrum, but _glowing _to his eyes, a stream of light connecting him to the TARDIS console. She purred, turning lights on to welcome him back.

"Right then," the Doctor said as the flow of energy tapered off, turning to face Tonks. "It's bigger on the inside – I presume we can skip all that."

She smiled weakly, looking around at the bronze walls. "It – it's not white. And curved. You changed it."

He shrugged. "I do that. Gets boring after a while. Now. We've got a planet to save, and a ship full of Sontarans to intimidate. _Allons-y!_" He didn't have to look to find the correct lever, hand reaching for it automatically.

And then they were off, once more, again, always: the Doctor, the companion, and the TARDIS. Just as it was meant to be.

Of course, the thing he tended to forget was how _needy_ companions were. They'd only been in flight a few seconds – really, just enough time to get her flying steady again, rather than fighting against the rubber band that was causality – when Tonks looked up at him across the console. "I've been in the same clothes for – well, for months now, apparently. Do you – you used to have a wardrobe on here."

He blinked, throwing another lever. It would bother her that she was in the same clothes – R-_Donna_ had brought on whole suitcases full. Him now, he needed his armour. Two suits, that's all he really needed. Sighing, he called up the internal plans of the TARDIS, trying to remember the way to the wardrobe room. "That door – no, not _that _one, the other one. First left, second right, third left – oh come on, it's easy!" Staring at her incomprehensive face, he groaned. "Fine. I'm getting the TARDIS to put up 'landing lights' for you, that work?" He pulled a screen over, tapping in the adjustments he needed.

A row of neon green lights lit up, trailing away into the depths of the TARDIS. Tonks gave him a look. "Did that speech work on your other companions?"

"Yes?" Alright, so Martha had gotten lost for three days the first time he'd tried to send her to the wardrobe room, but that didn't mean anything, did it? Well, his brain was larger than a human's, and maybe he could store twice as much memory and access it four times as fast – not that he'd tested, no, never – but they really were simple directions. Weren't they?

He was pondering this as Tonks wandered off, and he was still turning it over when she came back, now wearing a practical black-and-silver ensemble that reminded him far too much of a military uniform. The effect was rather offset by her pink hair, about the same length as his and every bit as disordered.

Putting the TARDIS on autopilot – it wasn't like she needed a lot of guidance anyway – he went off to deal with his own clothes. He _liked_ the black suit, but it was so human, and the size of the pockets was going to be a problem. Pulling on the blue version and red Converse, he ran back to the console room – just in time for the TARDIS to shake.

He swore in Gallifreyan and dashed to the sensors. "They're shooting at us! Why are they shooting at us?" Muttering threats at whoever had decided to create a militaristic race of clones, the Doctor danced around the TARDIS console, pulling levers apparently at random.

Tonks did her best to stay out of the way, to no great success. "Well, maybe it's because you're trying to land a vessel inside their spaceship."

His hand slipped off a button, a really _really _important button that was going to keep them from being reduced into their component atoms. Hanging off the console by one hand, he pounded on the button with the other. "Because – come on, just hold it together – because I didn't _do _anything! I just tried to land and then they started _shooting_ at me."

She laughed, holding on to one of the support struts. "Maybe they've heard of you."

"I should hope so," he muttered, pulling the last lever. "Otherwise this is going to be a lot more difficult." With a thunk, the TARDIS landed. Grinning, he grabbed his long coat from a strut, throwing it on.

Shaking her head, Tonks followed. "So – Sontarans. Potatoes in armour, aren't they?"

The grin fell from his face as he looked around. "Not good." The words were weak, high-pitched, quiet.

"What?" Tonks stepped out of the TARDIS, closing the door behind her.

He could feel the TARDIS retreat in his mind, powering down to wait for her Time Lord to return. Giving her a mental pat – he promised to come back this time, not like before when he'd left her for years – he looked around the room.

Each pod was blue metal on the bottom, blue-tinged glass on the top. They were connected to the wall and to each other in a complicated web of cables and tubes, some feeding into the pods, some draining them. The pods lined the walls in neat orderly rows. There was no discernible difference between the pods on the bottom rows and the pods at the top. Each row had a narrow pathway just below the pods – access ways, the Doctor suspected.

Pod after pod after pod. Twenty seven on each row, eighty-one rows – twenty-one eight-seven in total. In just this room. And he didn't know how many rooms there were on the ship, or how many ships in the fleet.

He ran a hand through his hair. "This is a Sontaran incubation room. Each pod has a Sontaran clone inside it." His eyes flickered around the room, looking for movement.

Behind him, the TARDIS whirred unpleasantly, attracting his attention. "What's that? Oh, what are you doing that for, dear?" he asked, pressing his ear against the door of the TARDIS.

She whined, trying to communicate with him in a dimension that he could understand.

He patted her door sympathetically. "I know, I know. Just keep it up and we'll be back soon."

Tonks looked at him, eyebrow raised in a manner that was eerily reminiscent of himself. "Doctor?"

"Hmn?" He was still paying far more attention to his TARDIS, but she _was_ acting weird: shifting power somewhere else, doing something that she wouldn't explain to him

Tonks bit her lip, apparently unsure what she was going to say. "Why couldn't the Master do this himself?"

He really needed to quit trying to anticipate Tonks. It really wasn't working. "He tried, but the Sontarans wouldn't listen to him. They don't trust Time Lords in general, and the Master has a bit of a reputation. He can talk to them all he likes, but he's got no way to threaten them and they know it. Me, on the other hand –" He grinned at her. "I've got my mind, my TARDIS, and my companion. What more could I need?"

"You got all that from what he said earlier?" Tonks asked, giving him a penetrating glare.

The Doctor shrugged. "Not really, but I know him and I know Sontarans. 'S not too hard to figure out what they've been doing."

She laughed, throwing her head back.

He grinned, scanning the room automatically. What he saw made him freeze. "Trouble," he said quietly.

Three levels up a Sontaran saw them and began climbing down quickly.

She swallowed, crossing over to him. "How much?"

The Doctor shrugged. "A bit." He walked forward, clasping his hands behind his back as the Sontaran reached their level and glared up at them. "Hello. I'm the Doctor. If I could – which fleet is this?"

"I am Major Ston of the First Sontaran Colonization Fleet," the Sontaran rasped. "You will be taken to Space Marshal Skal for his judgement."

Grinning, the Doctor stuck his hands in his pockets. "Brilliant. Come on, Tonks. Hold on a mo' – _Space_ Marshal? That's a bit high, innit? And Colonization Fleet? Since when have you had one of those? Well – Skal'll tell me, I suppose. Tonks – leave the TARDIS. She'll be safe enough here. And you –" He nodded at Ston. "Don't think of trying to move her. Not unless you really want me angry."

Major Ston looked at him out of black beady eyes. "_March_, prisoners!"

"Aw," the Doctor said in an undertone, "We've been demoted."

Tonks grinned as they began to walk, escorted by the Sontaran. "Well, can't go downhill from here."

Surprised briefly, the Doctor shot her a glance. "Don't – don't talk like that. Tempting fate, that is."

"Do Time Lords believe in fate?" she asked, following him out of the room and up a flight of stairs. "I mean – you've got time travel and all, do you even have a concept of destiny?"

He stopped, turning around and walking backwards. "Ooh – I _like_ you, Nymphadora Tonks. Very clever. No, by the way. No fate or destiny or any of that linear rubbish. Just fixed points and optional points. Things which have to happen and others which don't."

"Keep moving!" the Sontaran shouted.

He frowned at Ston. "Oi! I am moving. Maybe not at the speed you want, but that's life, innit? Anyway, I could've as well used Murphy's Law – probably better, next time, to avoid confusion."

Tonks snickered. "I think you _live_ on confusion."

"Maybe," the Doctor said, spinning again and striding down the corridor. "It's no fun if everyone gets it right off."

"Don't talk!" the Sontaran barked, looking annoyed.

He turned his head, narrowly avoiding a collision with a wall. "You're a cheery one, aren't you?"

Tonks nudged him, shaking her head.

He sighed, jamming his hands in his pockets. They were directed – at gunpoint, much to his displeasure – along a corridor, down two flights of stairs, to the right, up a flight, and into a lift that went up three levels before disgorging them into the Sontaran command centre.

"Space Marshal Skal, I presume," the Doctor said, walking forward towards an elevated jump seat.

The Sontaran stood up, pointing his rod at the Doctor. "Insubordination!"

The Doctor came to a dead halt, holding his arms out. "Not true! Very, very wrong, in fact. I can't possibly be insubordinate: I'm not part of your military. Now – you're Sontarans, you're attacking the Earth, I'm the Doctor, if you want explanations you're gonna wait to shoot."


	32. A Mad Man With a Box, III

**Doctor Who, Special Series; Episode 7: A Mad Man With a Box**

**A/N: *sigh* The reason I write these the night before is so I can remember what to tell you. Because, of course, I have absolutely no clue what I was going to say here.**

**CAMEOS: Nobody guessed the arc words. Nobody even **_**tried**_**, which was a little disappointing. Come on, guys. I've done everything but hit you over the head with them (My beta would like to point out that I **_**have**_** been hitting you over the head with them; I think I've been a little more subtle). That challenge is still open, as is a new one: There is a shout-out in this chapter to a book-series-turned-movie-series (**_**not**_** Harry Potter). What's the shout-out and what's the series?**

**300****th**** reviewer gets a one-shot of their choice! Twicked, I'm working on yours, it should be up Wednesday.**

**Thanks to: Paul (always), DragonRose4, FlyingLovegood123, Ptroxsora, Ashlee Pond, NightSand, LilyLunaPotter142, Twicked, and Dark Dark Angel. NOTE: I do reply to **_**every**_** review. If you ask questions, I try to answer them.**

**Fun Fact: Russell T. Davies, Mark Gatiss, and John Barrowman are all gay and in happily committed relationships. If anyone knows of any more of us queers involved in the Whoniverse, please message me and I'll add them to the list. (Although honestly, Barrowman, at least, shouldn't come as a surprise to **_**anyone**_**.)**

* * *

Skal looked down at the Doctor. He was probably scowling, but the Doctor wasn't all that good at reading Sontaran expressions. "The Doctor. You are not welcomed among the Sontarans."

"Course not," the Doctor said quickly, "But here I am."

Skal stepped forward, remaining on the dais. "Why are you here?"

He grinned, raising an eyebrow. "You stole my question."

Tonks snorted.

"Answer or die!" Skal roared.

She nudged him. "Pissy, isn't he?" Without appearing to struggle, she slowly altered her features to those of a Sontaran. "There, that better?" Her East End accent seemed incongruous with her new appearance.

The Doctor grinned. "We're here because you are. In case you'd forgotten, I'm not big on you lot destroying the Earth."

"That is too bad, Doctor." Skal stepped down off the dais, walking up to the Doctor. "We are here to defeat the humans in battle and even you cannot stop a Sontaran fleet."

Tonks smiled, the expression looking _very_ odd on her grey face. "He complimented you, Doctor. That's good, innit?"

He looked down at her, struggling to maintain _some_ semblance of seriousness. "I suppose," he drawled, giving up and smiling back. "Now, Space Marshal Skal, what exactly are the Sontarans doing with a colonization fleet? You lot don't _colonize_. You've got clone worlds, but they're just – just like hospitals, a place to _make_ more, not a place to _live._ What are you up to?"

Skal straightened, still a solid two feet shorter than the Doctor. "We do not explain ourselves to you, Doctor."

"Yes, you do," the Doctor shot back. "Because if you want me to _help_ you, you're gonna explain what's going on here, and you're gonna do it quickly. If that weapon you're arming hits the Earth, whatever it is you want, I can _guarantee_ you won't be getting it."

Tonks cleared her throat. "I don't think threats help."

He ignored this. "What are you doing here, Skal? You bothered with warning the humans, that's new, you don't normally do that. So what's going on?"

The Sontaran leader scowled. "I will not explain our strategy to an enemy of the Sontarans. It would not be wise."

"Honestly!" The Doctor jammed both hands in his pockets. "Look, you know me. I'm the Doctor. I'm not someone you wanna piss off, and destroying _that_," he gestured at the wide screen in the front of the room, currently displaying the Earth, "Would be a _remarkably_ efficient way to do it."

Skal looked uncomfortable for the first time, shifting his weight slightly. "The Sontaran fleet cannot be stopped. We _must_ conquer the Earth."

He straightened, eyes focusing on the Sontaran, eyebrows lowering. "What? Conquer? You don't _conquer_, you _destroy_. What are you _on_ about?"

"Troopers!" Skal shouted, ignoring the Doctor. "Take the Doctor and his companion to the cells."

"No, wait!" The Doctor stepped forward, almost grabbing Skal. "You're making a mistake! Don't do this. I'm trying to _help_ you, surely even a Sontaran can see that!"

The Sontarans ignored him, one grabbing each of his arms, another waving one of their sticks in his face. "Third level, sir?"

Skal hesitated. "Fifth," he said finally.

The Doctor refused to move, straining against the hands on his wrists. "Look, just stop it! I'm willing to help you with whatever you need, just don't harm the humans!"

"And quickly, Troopers!"

The Sontarans hauled him away, their grasps on his arms preventing him from being able to pull out his screwdriver. Beside him, Tonks was faring no better. They were pulled out of the command room and back into the lift. "Those sticks," the Doctor muttered, jerking his head at one of their Sontaran guards, "they shoot bolts of –"

"I _know_, Doctor," Tonks said with a wry smile. "I watched your show, remember? I've seen Sontarans before."

The Doctor visibly deflated. "Oh. Right." He remained silent as they were marched down another series of corridors and thrown into a cell.

One of the Sontarans stayed inside with them. "Doctor, empty your pockets."

He groaned, beginning to pull things out. "Really? _All _of them?" The sonic screwdriver, his TARDIS key, forty-seven jelly babies, a package of cigarettes, a pair of handcuffs –

"Yes," the Sontaran said abruptly.

A now-broken RC mouse, a pair of black rimmed glasses, seventeen floppy disks, a slingshot, an instruction manual to an F-16 Fighting Falcon, a cricket ball, the Key to the City of Adelaide, the psychic paper, twenty-nine marbles, a stethoscope –

Tonks firmly closed her mouth with a snap. "Dimensionally transcendental."

He grinned, still pulling things out.

Five shillings, a magnifying glass, two aurelii, a talent worth of silver coins from various eras – that one made Tonks's eyes _huge_ – a banana, a Batmobile model, a gold ring, a notepad and pen, a cat embryo, a water pistol, a lock-picking set, a hammer and chisel, a flashlight, seven yo-yos, an Egyptian ankh, a dog whistle, a draft copy of _On the Origin of Species_, and – after quite a bit of wiggling – a Scottish broadsword.

The Sontaran did his best not to look stunned. Gesturing to the others outside the cell, he led them in collecting the assortment, finally locking the door behind the last of the others.

The Doctor groaned and ran his hand through his hair. Pacing restlessly, he threw himself against the far wall, staring out the window. "Now what?" he asked quietly. "Stuck in here, no way out, fourteen minutes left to save the Earth – I don't know, Tonks. I don't know."

The window was plate glass, six inches thick, and warped to boot. None of that prevented him from recognizing the blue box floating past the Earth. "_No._" His hearts stuck in his throat.

"Doctor?" Tonks stood behind him, trying to see out the tiny view port.

He spun, beginning to pace, hands jammed in his pockets. "Right. So. The situation. We're stuck in a cell, no aids, no way out, the Earth set to be wiped clean in thirteen minutes – yeah. A plan would be nice."

Tonks laughed, shocking him. "Nice try, Doctor. They didn't search me."

For a moment – 412 milliseconds – this stopped him, as he tried to come up with reasons why this would be important. "No – Tonks – your wand?" He spun, a grin beginning to spread across his face. "That – that's _brilliant._"

She smirked at him, her appearance back to normal – for her – raising the stick of light brown wood and pointing it at the door. "_Alohomora._"

The lock snicked open as the door swung towards them. Still grinning, feeling like he could _do_ this for the first time in – Gallifrey, six whole minutes? He must be getting old – he ran over to Tonks, swinging her up in a hug. "You are a _marvel_, Tonks. An absolute marvel."

Tonks was still grinning when he set her down again, keeping her wand out. "Great, Doctor. That's great. How 'bout we get out of here and save the world again, and then you can tell me more about how much of a marvel I am?"

That got a laugh from him. One portion of his mind dispassionately pointed out that he now knew which key he was going to give her despite having promised not to do that again. He ignored that, leaving the cell confidently, and almost walking straight into a Sontaran guard.

"_Stupefy!_" The bolt struck the Sontaran in the chest; he collapsed, sprawling on the floor.

The Doctor looked at the Sontaran, and then at Tonks. Bending down over the Sontaran, he rolled the guard onto his back. "Wake him up."

She groaned, kneeling down beside him. "Really? I was just trying to –"

"Tonks." He was on edge, upset because his TARDIS was gone – again – and worried about the humans, and something wasn't quite right with Tonks, although he couldn't figure out why,

"_Enervate_," she said reluctantly, pointing her wand at the Sontaran.

With a short breath that would have been a groan if the Sontaran was human, the guard opened his eyes. "You are welcome to torture me! Sontarans do not break under torture!"

The Doctor bared his teeth in something that might have been a grin. "Don't worry, Corporal. You'll tell me everything without the torture."

The Sontaran glared up at him.

"I am the Doctor," he said quietly. "The Oncoming Storm, the Lonely God, and the Destroyer of Worlds."

Behind him, Tonks shuddered, taking a step back from the intensity in his voice.

He ignored her. "I am a Time Lord, from the planet Gallifrey, the most powerful and advanced race in the universe. Daleks fear me and empires cower at the sound of my name. There are three things in the universe I care about," he said, with the smallest of smiles. "Do you know what they are?"

The Sontaran shook his head, remaining otherwise very still.

"The Earth, my companions, and my TARDIS. And you know what, Corporal? You have now threatened all three of them." He placed a hand on the Sontaran's head. "So you are going to tell me precisely what I want to know." Closing his eyes, he extended the telepathy he used so rarely and brushed against the Sontaran's mind.

_Let me in._

Freezing, the Sontaran made a small whimpering noise.

_Stop that. I'm not going to hurt you, I just want in._ He could force his way in if he had to, but it really would be so much easier if the Sontaran just relaxed – there. Grabbing the information he needed – really? That's what they were up to? – he pulled back out. "Tonks. Knock him out again." Standing up, he straightened his jacket.

Tonks gave him a look. "Since when do you do that? The head thing, I mean." She quickly sent a non-verbal stunner at the Sontaran, whose eyes rolled back in his head.

The Doctor sighed. "Since it's been necessary." Stepping over the Sontaran, he smiled back at Tonks. Or tried to, at least. He wasn't sure that what came out was a smile. "Come along, Tonks. We've got work to do."

Swallowing, she stuck her wand back inside her jacket. "You alright?"

"Yeah," he said, not really paying attention. His TARDIS. Missing. He could feel her receding from his mind as distance and the vacuum of space made it harder to stay together. "Let's go." He spun and began running down the corridor.

_Priority 1: Stop the Sontarans wiping clean the Earth._

_Priority 2: Get my TARDIS back._

_Priority 2a: Get my other stuff back._

_Priority 4 – no. Priority 3: Stop the Master._

_Priority 4: Go home. Wherever _home _is._

It didn't occur to him that Tonks wasn't on the list. It didn't occur to him that she _should_ have been.

* * *

Oh Merlin, _running_. She wasn't in shape for this. Even Auror training hadn't put her through this much. But the man who had so casually _waltzed _into her life and stolen her heart was tearing down a plain grey corridor, and if she didn't want to be left behind – in an unlocked cell with an unconscious guard – she had to follow.

What she wouldn't give for a good broomstick.

It took her all of two corridors before her shin splints flared up again – she blamed one too many bouts of football as a kid – and she had to collapse, panting against a wall. _Merlin_, that hurt. Shards of pain flashed across her shins every time she took a step. It felt like someone was dragging a knife across her tibias. "Doctor!"

Oh god it hurt and she hated asking for help, but knowing him he was just going to keep on running and not even notice that she wasn't there until after he saved the day – or died, because that was a possibility now that this wasn't just a TV show but was actually _real life_ – and since when did that happen? And Merlin, she was panicking and the events of the last two – _two?_ – days were catching up to her and she really couldn't afford this now because she had to make a good impression on the Doctor and this really wasn't the way to do it –

"What?"

_And_ she was too wrapped up in her damn introspection to notice that He was there, crouching in front of her. Great. Good job, Tonks, way to go on the 'get the Doctor to value you' plan, top marks! She tried not to scowl up at him. "Shin splints. Hurts to run."

It wasn't until the words were out of her mouth that she realized she had just scuttled any 'stay with the Doctor' plan by being unable to run.

There was a brief moment where he looked completely flabbergasted, and then he pulled it together again, hiding whatever confusion-annoyance-anger he still felt behind his normal mask. "Oh. Alright then. Can you walk?"

She stared at him for a moment. "Uh – yeah. A bit. But it's painful. And not fast. I – I'm sorry," she mumbled, looking down at her knees.

Somehow she'd managed to shock him again. "No – don't be. It – it's just a thing. A thing humans get. Mel had them."

He hadn't mentioned any of his previous companions before then, she realized. Maybe it meant something. No – she wouldn't let it mean something. "Go ahead. 'M slowing you down."

His gaze was utterly confused. Somewhere along the line it was like they were speaking two different languages – probably his fault. "What? No, no, Tonks, I'm not leaving you, we've got seven whole minutes, come on, _please_."

Tonks blinked up at him, rubbing her shin absently. "The Sontarans are gonna destroy the Earth."

"And?" The Doctor knelt down beside her, wrapping one arm around her shoulder while taking over the steady massage of her shins with the other.

What followed wasn't entirely clear in her mind, but it resulted in her standing on one side of the corridor and a _very _confused Doctor on the other. "What? Tonks, what's wrong?"


	33. A Mad Man With a Box, IV

******Doctor Who, Special Series; Episode 7: A Mad Man With a Box**  


**A/N: Does anybody read the author's notes? If you do, and you like their length, leave a review saying 'bad wolf.' If you do, but you think they should be shorter, leave a review saying 'Torchwood.' Thanks in advance!**

**CAMEOS: Ethanland came close enough to get the arc words; PM me for your cameo. No one got the shout out in the last chapter. Here's a hint: One of the Doctors also appears in the movie series, along with plenty of shouting and running.**

**Thanks to: Dark Dark Angel, DragonRose4, Ethanland, Paul, cinephile42, Twicked, PersonBehindScreen, FlyingLovegood123, FaeBreeze, LilyLunaPotter142, and Guest. Twicked, your one-shot is UP!**

**Fun fact: The kanji (Japanese word stolen from Chinese [roughly]) for 'doctor' looks like a man in a box. No, really.**

* * *

_Ow._ No, leaping up and running hadn't been the brightest idea, but staying there wouldn't have led anywhere productive either. "You – you're a Time Lord." Her voice was shakier than she'd ever want to admit.

"Yes – and?" He stood, lanky limbs moving as if they only had the most tangential connection to the body. "I – I thought you knew that. You said –" He sounded more confused than accusatory, which was nice, because she really was far too on edge for dealing with that.

She stood there for a minute, quiet, trying to figure out if blatant come-ons for humans didn't translate quite as well for Time Lords and if it really mattered anyway, because somewhere deep in the back of her head she had discovered an unholy attraction to his _hair_, and usually that was a really bad sign, and none of it mattered anyway, because if Time Lords _were_ compatible with humans, he totally would have been shagging Sarah Jane, and he wasn't, so they weren't, so it was all just a useless train of thought – and _oh dear Merlin_ he was right next to her again.

He touched her shoulder gently, peering at her face. "Tonks? You alright?"

"Yes. No. I don't know!" And they didn't have time for this, didn't have time to deal with her break-down in the middle of a Sontaran warship that was preparing to bomb the ever-loving daylights out of the Earth.

His return gaze was far too understanding. "That's a no, then. What's wrong?"

Why did he have to be _helpful_? "Nothing," she muttered, turning away. "Let's go save the world."

The Doctor moved again, trying to stay in her line-of-sight. "Something's wrong. What is it? Is someone threatening you? Tonks, trust me, I can help, you just need to talk to me, if someone's threatening your family, I swear I'll make them pay, just – how would that work?" he said suddenly, distracting himself. "You've been with me the entire time. No – no one's threatening you. So what is it? Is – is – is it – some women get – you know – at certain times – is – I don't want to –"

There was something strangely compelling about just watching him ramble. His ability to stick his foot in his mouth without any outside input was almost surreal. Giving up on avoiding his gaze, she looked straight at him, feeling that horrible trickling that meant she had lost control of her Metamorphagus ability again. "No. That – no. I'm not in my monthlies or anything like that."

His eyes flicked up to her hair and then back down to meet her eyes. "So – Tonks, I can't help you if you don't tell me –" His hand touched her shoulder.

It was too much, too close, too soon. Tonks shoved him away, trying to ignore how _wrong_ this all was. She couldn't be attracted to a man who looked like Barty Crouch. She couldn't have a damn _crush_ like some prepubescent teen on an alien twenty times her age. She couldn't let her stupid hormones get in the way of the Doctor saving the world yet again. She couldn't have that sitting on her conscience.

Which led her to an inevitable conclusion, no matter how much it hurt to open herself up. Because the Earth was more important than her stupid pride, and the Doctor couldn't save the Earth if he was too wrapped up in dealing with her to notice the Sontarans blowing up London. "It's you."

There followed a moment where she watched all of the blood drain from his face. He opened his mouth once, closed it, and opened it again. "I can take you home. When I'm done here."

That hurt, his automatic assumption that she wanted to _leave_, and worse – that she wouldn't be helpful with this mission. "No, it's not that – oh, Doctor, for once in your life, listen!"

To her unending surprise, he did, snapping his mouth shut again and staring down at her, eyebrows furrowed.

"It – it's – _Merlin,_" she sighed, resting her head against the wall. Why was it so hard to talk to him? Maybe because she would be handing to him all the weapons he would need to tear her into a thousand little pieces, and her sense of self-preservation wasn't _that_ poor.

He grinned at that, but it was plainly fake, stretching across his face in all the wrong ways – and that said something horrible, that she knew what right and wrong looked like on his face. "That's me," he said cheerily.

Tonks shook her head, groaning. She didn't ask, although it burned at her lips, if he had already done the second half of that adventure, the half where he met Arthur and Morgaine and Mordred for the second-first time. "No – you – you're brilliant and amazing and handsome and kind and I look at you and see the kind of man I want to – to –" She stumbled over the next few words, plucking up her courage and the bone-deep knowledge that it was better to do this fast and get it over with. "To spend the rest of my life with," she said in a rush, continuing somewhat steadier. "And – and I know I can't, because that's not who you are, but I still _want _it, and – and _you!_ You make it so damn hard, every time you touch me I find less reasons to say 'no' to myself and I can't afford to distract you because you're the only person standing between us and death, and all I want right now is for you to _back off_ just a little bit, just give me some space to work things out, and for the love of _Merlin_ quit touching me!"

The Doctor jerked back, eyes wide. "Oh. Right. Well, that's good then, innit?" His smile was painful in its frailty. "'Cause you're not supposed to end up with me, you're supposed to end up with Lupin." His mouth snapped shut again, and his face took on that look that always meant he'd said too much.

Shaking slightly, she forced an equally frail smile up. "Oh Doctor. Should – should we go save the world again?"

This smile was real, a grin that exploded over his face. "Tonks, you are _brilliant_!" He made an abortive move like he was going to hug her, stopped, and lowered his hands awkwardly. "Ah. Right. None – no touching. And no running either, at least not until I can get you back to the TARDIS and fix your shins."

Somehow it didn't come as a surprise that he could do that. "A brisk walk should be fine," she said, her customary humour poking through again.

He chuckled, leading the way down the corridor. "Well, then, Tonks – _Allons-y!_"

* * *

Every Sontaran they ran into got out of the way, although that was probably because of the look on the Doctor's face. Tonks did her best to keep up, but she had to take more breaks than either of them were comfortable with.

_Three minutes, 19.20 seconds. Three minutes, 17.92 seconds._

He tried to ignore the countdown in his head, with no great success. It was better than the other voice pointing out how much he already had messed up Tonks, despite only being with her for two days.

_Two days, five hours, twenty-three minutes and 502 milliseconds._

Right, well, didn't matter. What mattered were the Sontarans standing on the bridge, huddled around one of their monitors and muttering. He looked at Tonks one last time. She nodded, smiling, and fell into a chair, a little too short for humans, but close enough to the ones she must have been used to.

"Right then," the Doctor said, strolling across the room to peer over the shoulder of the nearest Sontaran. "What have we got here?"

Space Marshal Skal turned and looked up at him. "Doctor. How did you get out?"

He waved a hand, pointing at the monitor. "Never mind that, _you've_ got a bit of a problem." Stepping forward, he tapped the screen firmly with the base of one hand. "Looks like your systems have gone into overload. Got a few too many clone batches on board, your computers can't cope. Mission gone on longer than planned? Doesn't matter; what's really important is does anyone have my glasses?" He looked around, smiling.

Sighing, Skal handed him a large black toolbox. "Your supplies are in here, Doctor."

He raised an eyebrow at the Sontaran. "You've come 'round fast. Aha!" Grinning, he pulled out the TARDIS key and tucked it inside a pocket; turning, he threw the sonic screwdriver across the room at Tonks. "Here! Find a computer with a countdown on it, setting 28, point and click. Should shut down their weapons systems."

Tonks caught it, gaping at him briefly before turning to her assigned task.

The Doctor returned his attention to the monitor, putting his glasses on. "And – lookie here. Bay X-6. Power failing until twenty-four minutes ago, when it got a boost from some external source." He raised an eyebrow at the Sontarans.

Skal cleared his throat. "External power sources cannot be trusted! The alien machine was hijacking our systems. It had to be removed!"

"So you threw my _TARDIS_ out an airlock, oh yes, very brilliant," the Doctor snapped.

There was a sudden concerted effort to avoid his eyes. He ignored them, trying to rewire the system using a yo-yo and some lock-picks. "Sir, this spaceship could use your assistance," Skal said abruptly.

He continued ignoring the Sontarans for another second, clipping a wire into place and tying it there, listening briefly to the quiet hum that meant he'd gotten _something_ to work. "Space Marshal Skal, if you wanted my assistance, you should have taken it _when I was offering_. As it is, you're gonna have to just _deal_ with whatever I end up doing. Tonks! You got that weapon disabled yet?"

Something crashed on the other side of the room and Tonks swore. "Not yet. Sorry."

"Don't be." Hauling the toolbox over to her, he bent down, watching Tonks point the screwdriver futilely at a computer. "You need to put it about three inches over – that's it. And – yes." He grinned at her, trying not to do the one thing he wanted to – hug her.

With a whirr and a small bang, the computer shut down. But there was something – he was missing something – it was bad, it was wrong, something had changed – muttering under his breath, he snatched the screwdriver out of Tonks' hand.

"What's wrong?"

He scanned the room, ignoring her. Her hair was back to pink with blue stripes – that was a good sign. "No, no, no, _no, NO!_" He spun, trying to hold the anger in, because _damnitall_ if he lost it, everything was lost, it was too damn close. "Space Marshal Skal," he said clearly, in a tone that neither offered respect nor brooked refusal, pointing out the window. "Are those missiles guided?"

_Those missiles._ Horrible, horrible words to describe a quintet of grey-black missiles leaving the Sontaran ship. Three seconds too late. Tonks was three seconds – no. _He_ was, because he had pushed the issue and taken time and talked, _he_ was three seconds too late on shutting down the computers, and the missiles had already launched.

If it wasn't that Sontaran blood was pale green and their skin gray, he would say that Skal paled; as it was, the Sontaran commander looked like he wanted nothing more than to go hide in a very deep hole. "Yes, sir. They are."

Now was _not_ the time to blow up, the Doctor firmly reminded himself. Killing an entire Sontaran fleet wouldn't solve any problems. None. Not even the newly revived one of his TARDIS being_ gone_ and maybe the Earth getting blown up. Nope. No point in killing them.

"Tonks!"

She stood, gone very pale again. "Doctor. I – I'm sorry."

He shook his head, rubbing the back of his neck absently. "Don't be, not your fault. Um – ah – ah." He ducked his head, frowning. Two problems, he had to deal with them both _now_, which one to give to Tonks – "Here. Take these." He handed her the screwdriver and the TARDIS key. "Point this at the key, switch it on, and think of the TARDIS. Doesn't matter which setting, just point and think. And _do it now!_"

He hadn't meant to yell, this realization hit him as Tonks flinched away. He opened his mouth to apologize, but turned, crossing the room again to the Sontaran leader. "Skal. How many clone batches are in progress right now?"

Skal looked flustered, as much as a Sontaran could. "Seventeen, sir. Sir, if I could ask –?"

The Doctor really couldn't have cared less what the _bloody moron_ did or did not understand, but rewiring the systems didn't take all of his brain, even if he did have to do it with a lock-picking set, the floppy disks, and most of the silver coins. "Your guard," he sighed, pulling out a bundle of wires. "Your guard knew about the destruction of Sontar. You've come to try to replace your home world – it won't work, but nice try anyway. You don't care about the humans," this was timed to coincide with the placement of a floppy disk in the middle of the computer, "so you're not bothering to kill them all. What you need is the planet, and if you're too busy to put your full efforts into a war, it's dishonourable, so you're giving them an out – not realizing, of course, that these humans haven't even been to the Moon and so couldn't leave Earth even if they knew what was going on."

Three silver denarii were placed almost at random inside the console before he continued. "Really, it all made sense before that. I mean – come _on._ Colonization fleet, conquering the Earth, _calling_ – I mean, actually _phoning up_ the PM to warn the humans - what else could you be up to other than a new home world?"

"Doctor?" Tonks called out.

He jerked upright, banging his head against the console. "Ow. Tonks? What's wrong?" It took him a moment to stumble over to her – some bodies were better than others at the whole coordination thing, and this one was on the low end.

She looked up at him, eyes wide – and gold. Gold like stars, gold like glitter. Gold like the inside of the TARDIS.


	34. A Mad Man With a Box, V

**Doctor Who, Special Series; Episode 7: A Mad Man With A Box**

**A/N: 8 Wolves in 11 reviews. Conclusion: I'm leaving things just as they are. On the note of leaving things as they are, there's no **_**way**_** I'm stopping with the cliffies. They get me quite a few more reviews per chapter. :D**

**And sdlfkjaoiejj I'M AT 20K VIEWS. THIS IS VERY BIG AND EXCITING AND I DON'T KNOW WHAT TO DO WITH THIS KNOWLEDGE. POSSIBLY WRITE YOU ALL A ONE-SHOT. AT SOME POINT. AND YELL A LOT.**

**Nobody even **_**tried**_** with the shout-out. For those of you wondering, the Doctor has a gold **_**ring**_ **in his pockets. (What has it got in its pockets?)**

**Thanks to: Paul, Iamthe42, knighttjy, Kudo Shinichi Tanteisan, FlyingLovegood123, FaeBreeze, Twicked, Ptroxsora, DragonRose4, Kohaku The Otaku, JoojooBrother, and LilyLunaPotter142. 300th reviewer gets a one-shot!**

**Fun Fact: Sylvester McCoy played the Seventh Doctor, and also Radagast the Brown in _The Hobbit_.**

* * *

_Oh – not good._

"She's in my head." Tonks looked up at him, screwdriver and key no longer anywhere near each other. "Doctor, what's going on? She's in my _head_!"

Yes, well, that was an unfortunate side-effect. He sighed, touching her chin gently. "Tonks – Nymphadora Tonks, focus on me. There you go. I'm right here, in front of you. Now, I need you to picture the TARDIS _here_. Can you do that? You need to visualize her landing right here, right next to us. Do that for me, Tonks, just picture her sitting there, so big and blue and that wonderful noise and the light-bulb on the top that never needs to be changed." He looked down into her eyes, hoping against hope that they would darken from gold to brown again.

She swallowed, grabbing onto his wrist with one hand as if it was a lifeline. "Vwoorp," she said, in a passible imitation of the TARDIS landing noise.

He smiled shakily. "Yes. Vwoorp."

Her eyes fluttered closed, but her grip on his wrist didn't loosen. Silently he cursed himself for doing this to her, but he hadn't had a choice. She would survive, if the TARDIS got out of her head fast enough, but without his TARDIS he couldn't save the Earth. And there was no way he was letting the Sontaran ship fall apart _beneath his feet_ if there was any way to stop it. Which there was. But Tonks couldn't rewire the computers to restructure – and remove – the weapons systems and funnel the energy to life-support, to save all of the Sontarans except those in bay X-6 who were already lost, only he could do that. And now she was paying the price of that trade-off.

"Skal," the Doctor said, still looking down at Tonks. "Hit the power button on the computer I was working on. Then take that yo-yo and use the string to tie the blue and black wires together. All of them."

Ignoring the Sontarans, he reached up with his other hand and touched her temples. His TARDIS was just far enough away that he couldn't call her to him with the key, not to mention the effects of the Sontaran's shielding on her casing. Yes, there were five hundred and fifty odd miles between Hogwarts and the Ministry of Magic, but that was nothing compared to the distance between geostationary orbit and the surface of the Earth. His TARDIS was programmed to lock on to the nearest gravitational pull, something that didn't usually backfire this spectacularly.

Behind him came the sounds of a computer firing up. He extended his mind into Tonks', just barely brushing against the edges. He didn't normally do this, he didn't _like_ doing this, but if he didn't want to lose Tonks, it had to happen.

Tonks' mind, to his view, was a peculiar mix of open and shut. Some areas, the areas that humans could see, were shut down tight behind stone walls. But the areas that _he_ cared about, the bits that made Tonks _Tonks_ and not just another human, the bits that right then were wound all about with bits of TARDIS, those bits were left wide open, plenty of room for him to fit into. He touched her mind – both hers, actually, because the TARDIS was in there too – and tried to talk to them.

It wasn't talking as humans thought of it, or really as anyone but Time Lords, because there were no words. It was more thoughts and images and sensations and the impression of his mind against someone else's. During the minutes and seconds and milliseconds and any other time unit he could calculate that he had been with the Corsair it had been _wonderful_. His head wasn't empty anymore because there was someone there beside him – and it was _Tonks_ who was _human_ and he had to saveher so he had to focus _now!_

He touched the TARDIS-bits, showing her where and when he was and how to get there. For Tonks, all he could do was send her calming thoughts and hope that she would deal with TARDIS-in-her-head better than Rose had. Admittedly there was less of the TARDIS in Tonks than there had been in Rose, but – it was still dangerous.

With her normal whoosh and thud entry, the TARDIS materialized around them. Tonks collapsed on the floor of the TARDIS, her eyes briefly open and brown, before rolling back in her head.

The Doctor sighed, throwing the doors open and tossing his coat over a support strut. "You. Skal. Get in here. The rest of you, stay on the bridge." He had a new plan – a _new_ new plan – but he needed a Sontaran on the TARDIS for it. And he had questions.

Skal shifted awkwardly before marching onto the TARDIS, saluting the Doctor in the process. "Sir."

"Close the doors," the Doctor said absently, turning to the console and beginning to flick levers. "We're gonna pick up those missiles and then tow your ship to an abandoned planet. But first, Skal, I want some answers. No. That's second. Third, I'm going to – wait. No. _First_, I'm going to stop those missiles. Then answers. Then dealing with Sontarans. Then Tonks. Tonks may come before Sontarans. Not sure yet." He looked at Skal, smiling twistedly. "Hold on to something."

He threw the last lever, and at the same moment opened his mind as wide as it would go. "Dear, I need you to open your doors into the Zero Room." Spur of the moment plans were always a bit shoddy, and this one had more variables than most. "On my cue, though. Wait for my word." His fingers danced over a keyboard, arms occasionally reaching out to pull a lever or twist a knob. Coordinates in space and time, adjusting because the missiles weren't flying precisely straight, adjusting _again _because the rules of physics weren't _quite_ the same in this universe, and then – "Now!"

He felt, rather than heard, the strain from the TARDIS as she opened her doors to a room other than the console, felt on a deeper level still the pain from her as the missiles flew in and exploded, harmlessly more or less, inside the lawless air of the Zero Room. He wound his mind with hers, letting her collect herself and sigh and rearrange the rooms again.

_There. One dilemma down. And the most urgent one._

"Skal. Come here." He was still typing away, a task made ten times harder when the screen wasn't displaying his text, but now it was a genome sequence. "Thankfully you're Sontarans," he said conversationally, relaxing now that the Earth wasn't in danger, and determinedly ignoring the unmoving Tonks lying on the floor. "This wouldn't work with any other species. I need your hand."

The Sontaran came over, a little hesitant. The Doctor couldn't blame him, honestly, as the rage receded and his head started to clear. Still, he could process later. Pulling a syringe out of the TARDIS console – clever old girl, anticipating what he would need – he grabbed Skal's hand. Filling the vial with the green blood taken from an easy-to-access vein, he injected it into a port on the TARDIS console.

He waved the Sontaran away, typing with one hand and fiddling with the other. "I'm setting the TARDIS to lock onto anything sharing 99.99% of its genome with you. Anything smaller and she gets confused. Wouldn't work with humans; too much genetic variability. Once we're locked on," when it was him and her, they worked together; he would be locked onto the Sontarans as much as she would be, "We'll tow your ship back into the correct universe and find you a nice planet to call home."

It was a similar operation to the one he'd used to drag the Earth back into position, only he didn't have a planet-wide cell phone network to hack into. Instead he was using the similarities between Sontarans to postulate the shape and extent of their spaceship, and then lock onto that.

Skal backed away, remaining silent. Perhaps he was confused by the Doctor's mood swings. Or by the fact that the Doctor was randomly explaining himself.

Come to think of it, _he_ wasn't sure why he was explaining himself. His eyes flicked over to Tonks.

_Oh. Right._

Tonks, lying on the floor, motionless. Tonks, not breathing. Tonks, not alive.

_Not dead, either!_

But not alive, not at this point in time. She wasn't breathing, wasn't moving, her heart wasn't beating – he would be able to hear it, if it was – nothing about her said _alive_.

_But she can't be dead, I won't let her be dead, not for this, not for something this stupid!_

He clenched his teeth, entering a new set of coordinates with the prefix just for the universe he came from. Home. As much as he had one anymore. That done, he turned away from the console, running over to Tonks. Two fingers on her jugular, a hand underneath her nose only confirmed what he already knew: Nothing. No heartbeat, no breath.

Sighing, he sank down against the console, holding one of her hands loosely in his own. Skal moved so that he could see them, but otherwise remained silent. And there they sat. And waited for something to change.

The TARDIS spun onwards through the Time Vortex, ripping through realities and scattering dimensions behind her.

* * *

"Skal." The Doctor looked up finally, still holding onto Tonks' hand. "Who destroyed Sontar?"

The Sontaran looked surprised at this sudden change. "Sir, Sontar has not been destroyed."

He sighed, letting his head rest against the console, staring at the ceiling. "Don't lie to me, Skal. Sontarans are never any good at lying. Who destroyed Sontar?"

"Sontar was not destroyed when I left," Skal said reluctantly.

The Doctor refused to move, examining the ceiling intently. "Who was attacking?"

Skal shifted his weight. "One of the higher species. It was deemed safer to classify that information."

_Higher species._

_Higher._

_Higher._

He lunged upright, looming over the Sontaran. "Which ones? What do you know about them? How did they attack? Tell me, Skal! Tell me everything you know!"

Skal's eyes were wide. "I – I – sir, I was not on Sontar for the attack. They used weapons beyond our understanding and fought with the strength of many soldiers. We were proud to face them on the field of battle, but our usual tactics did not work on them. The Imperator declared that I was to lead the First Sontaran Colonization Fleet."

Rubbing the back of his neck, the Doctor waved the other hand absently. "Don't worry about tenses, Skal," he said, resigned to whatever was happening. "Whoever you're fighting can use time travel. Tenses will only make things difficult."

Skal straightened. "We may be fighting time travellers, Doctor, but we shall be victorious!"

"If that's what you want to believe," the Doctor muttered. "Another question – how did you get into that universe? What, precisely, happened?" Something was wrong, something was very very wrong and he had the most horrible suspicion about what it was and the _last_ thing he wanted was to have it confirmed but he had to _know_.

"Sir?"

The Doctor made a valiant attempt to hold onto his temper. "You were planning an attack on an alternate Earth, one that isn't possible in our universe. Now tell me, how did you get there?"

Skal backed up. "We were looking for a new Sontar. The last time we opened a quantum tunnel, the stars we saw did not match our records. The planet we were in orbit over, however, followed precisely our requirements for a new home world and did not have weapons that could threaten us. We did not realize that _you_ would be there."

The Doctor grinned, showing a lot of teeth. "Well then. You're looking for a planet. Let's go find you one." Spinning – ignoring Tonks still – he threw a lever on the console, entering coordinates once more. "And I know the perfect one for you lot, nice and safe and away from the rest of the universe."

"Sontarans do not need safety," Skal blustered.

This got a scathing glare. "I wasn't talking about safe for _you_."

The TARDIS lights flickered, making Skal twitch and then look abashed. "Sontarans do not fear! But – we have little experience with time machines."

The Doctor grinned again, actually feeling amused this time. "She's laughing," he said simply, letting his hand rest on a useless button. Sometimes he thought that she put random buttons out just so he would have something to fiddle with.

"Laughing?" Skal shifted, fear winning out over the traditional Sontaran stoic front.

He ignored the Sontaran this time, focusing on throwing the TARDIS through the Time Vortex. They had moved between universes earlier and were orbiting the black hole in the centre of the Andromeda galaxy. Now he was sending her off through the Time Vortex, but in a simpler way, no dimension jumping, just finding a suitable planet for thousands of Sontarans. She shuddered a couple times, beginning to whirr on a wavelength inaudible to human ears.

He frowned. This wasn't a difficult manoeuvre for her. They were just sliding along space-time, and not even really along time, except technically. But she was struggling against something, having to force her way through, and that was _wrong_.

Patting her console, he leaned forward, pressing her ear against her. "What's wrong, dear? What's happening?"

She hummed back at him, her mind pulsing around and within and beside his. She was the only reason he had remained sane all these years, her presence in his mind, her comforting existence there where no one else would ever go. Where no one else _could_ ever go, except for the Corsair and the Master, who wouldn't. He cared more about her than anyone else in the universe, and she returned the feeling.

Whistling to himself – no matter what was wrong, he was still a Time Lord and she was still his TARDIS, and they were still linked together – he danced around the console again, doing what he could to help his marvellous, marvellous machine.

And he missed, for the fifteen seconds she could afford to hold it up on a viewing screen, the message from that same machine, sent while she could still divert the energy: THE LOCK IS OPEN.


	35. A Mad Man With a Box, VI

**Doctor Who, Special Series; Episode 7: A Mad Man With a Box**

**A/N: Hello, darlings! Nothing much to say here, except that I'm about six chapters ahead of you, which is a nice big buffer for me. :D Also, Gliese 581 d _does_ exist and does have the attributes I give it.**

**Thanks to: Paul, JoojooBrother, Kudo Shinichi Tanteisan, Twicked, FlyingLovegood123, Sith in a TARDIS, James Birdsong, DragonRose4, LilyLunaPotter142, and Ptroxsora. Competition was fierce, but Twicked got the 300th review! Your one-shot will be up in a few days. **

**Fun Fact: Torchwood, which many people know is an anagram for "Doctor Who", was the code name used in 2004 when filming began on the new series to prevent leaks. If no one but the actors knew that they were filming Who, no secrets could be leaked, and there wouldn't be as much of an audience. Russell T. Davies liked the name so much that he re-appropriated it to use in the Torchwood Institute, and the rest is history.**

**WARNING: This chapter and the next contain emotional and mental manipulation. If either of those are triggers for you, I would recommend skipping the next two and coming back at the beginning of Episode 8.**

* * *

The TARDIS was still shuddering as he coaxed her into orbit around the fifth planet in the star system. Skal had remained more or less silent for the rest of the trip, stirring only to ask, in a disturbingly respectful tone coming from a Sontaran, where he was taking them.

He soon regretted it.

"Gliese 581 d," the Doctor said, spinning around in delight. "Or that's what the humans called it when they first discovered it. Later, they'll name it _Noah 5. _The star's Noah, and this is the fifth planet in its system. Humans are the only species to name stars other than their own, did you know that? Every other species in the _universe_ just gives them numbers after they've moved out of superstition, but not humans, oh no! They go out there and explore and name every single thing they find – Skal? Are you listening?"

Probably not, the Doctor thought absently, but then again, nobody really listened when he started babbling. And he really was babbling this time, because Tonks was dead and it was his fault and all he could do was save a bunch of stupid Sontarans – and babbling aloud, pretending that everything was alright, was easier than admitting that it really wasn't, that it had all gone to hell far too quickly for his liking.

"There you go, then," he said, smiling. Easier to force a smile up than to deal with the feelings within. "A planet all of your own. Twenty-two light years in that direction," he pointed, "is Earth. Unless you want to deal with me again, I would recommend you focus your attentions elsewhere." He couldn't keep the icy pain out of that last sentence.

Skal saluted. "Sir. The Sontaran army will focus its attentions on other planets."

Now when had that happened? When had the Sontaran started treating him with respect – like a superior officer? Why hadn't he noticed? He noticed _everything_, that was what he _did_, but for some reason he couldn't remember when or why Skal had begun to respect him.

Details. Little things, little people. Didn't matter.

He snapped his fingers, opening the doors to the TARDIS. "Your ship's just out there. You're in geostationary orbit around Noah 5 – I suppose you could call it something else, it's your planet now. You don't have weapons systems anymore, I disabled them and rerouted the power to your life support. The only batch you lost was X-6. I'm sorry about that." He was, in a way. More people he'd failed to save.

Skal saluted _again_. "Sir. With respect, sir, I would like to offer you the gratitude of the Sontaran people and –"

"Don't." The Doctor waved his hand at the door. "Off you go. Go – go rebuild your culture, or whatever it is you Sontarans do."

Looking very much as if he _wanted_ to salute but didn't dare to given the Doctor's glare, Skal settled for nodding, turning, and leaving the TARDIS.

Snapping his fingers again, the Doctor closed the doors behind the Sontaran. Tension bled out of his body. His TARDIS was _his_ again, nothing foreign on it. Tonks didn't count. Tonks was _his._ All the little people were gone.

Because now he had another problem to deal with. Tonks was dead. Ish. She was dead, lying there, motionless, no heartbeat, not beating, but her thread was still wound about his and that of the TARDIS. Dead, but not gone. It wasn't irrevocable, not as long as she remained on the TARDIS. He owned a time machine. He owned a _time_ machine. He could change whatever and whenever he wanted, because he was a Time Lord in his TARDIS.

Touching the console, he said, "Open up."

The grating on the bottom screeched open, revealing the shimmering golden lights inside. "I just need a bit," he whispered. "Just the littlest tiny bit, for her. For my Tonks."

The TARDIS whined. He ignored that, reaching down and pulling out a long glowing strand that wrapped around his fingers as if it was alive. Closing the grating, he bent over Tonks, letting the tip of the strand touch her lips.

She breathed in.

The strand flowed into her mouth, vanishing into her in a sparkle of gold.

She breathed out.

The Doctor had to sit down.

It wasn't a technique he'd done before, it being both strictly prohibited by the Time Lords and complicated to set up: they had to die _on_ the TARDIS and remain there, supported by her presence, until a piece of the TARDIS matrix could be given to them. Not something that happened very often, honestly.

"Doctor?"

It was _her_ voice. It was small and weak and hesitant, but it was _her_ voice and it meant she was alive. He leaped upright, grinning, and grabbed her hands. "Tonks. Nymphadora Tonks, you amazing girl! How do you feel?"

She looked blankly up at him and wheezed out a laugh. "Awful. Absolutely bloody awful. I was dead, wasn't I?" This last was said in a completely steady tone.

"Yeah," he said, faintly disbelieving. "Yeah, you were." He had done it. He had defeated death without consequences, turned back the clock and taken Tonks from death into life, changed the course of events irrevocably –

He could do it again. Go to a time, pick a person, pull them into the TARDIS, let them die, bring them back again. All of those people whose lives he could save, now. Now that he was certain this worked and not just working off hypotheses. Change the world, make it better. How much more stable would Europe have been if Caesar had had the opportunity to implement his plans? What if Harold Godwinson hadn't died at Hastings? What if a thousand other fixed points in time weren't quite so fixed because he could _save_ them and make it better?

Tonks groaned, sitting upright and pulling her hands away. "Now what? I was dead. Now – _Merlin._ I was _dead._"

The Doctor grinned, grabbing her hands again and pulling her upright. "Come on, Tonks! Let's go put up a Time Lock!"

She pulled away from him, clasping her hands behind her back – she didn't want to touch him. Why? What was wrong with touching him? Most humans liked it, why didn't she? "What's that? And – and why aren't I dead?"

He flung himself at the TARDIS console, ignoring the flashing lights – actually, no. Lights were distracting, so he turned them off. He was going to ignore them, but they might annoy Tonks, and Tonks was his companion, and his companions were supposed to be happy. "Think of it as a gift from the TARDIS," he said in answer to her second question. "Facilitated by me, of course."

"Modest, aren't you?" she teased.

He grinned, spinning around in delight. Of _course_ he wasn't modest, he was a Time Lord, and Time Lords weren't modest.

To his displeasure, Tonks sobered rapidly, her face falling. "Are – are there side effects? To – to not being dead?"

"Nope!" he said instantly. "Well – don't think so. Shouldn't be, at least. You breathed in a piece of the TARDIS. Not a great big one like you had in your head, just a little thread. Just enough to bring you back, but it's all gone now. You're perfectly fine."

_Perfectly fine._

_Perfect._

Everything was going to be perfect now, because he could make it so, and he wasn't about to let it be any other way. Grinning, he danced around the console, pulling levers and pushing buttons, not bothering to input coordinates – that would only give control over to the TARDIS, and he wanted to go where _he_ wanted to go, not where she did.

Tonks sat down in the pilot's chair, well out of his way. "Where are we going?"

He whistled happily, pulling another lever. "The edge of the universe," he yelled, breathing in with a gasp before whistling again.

"You've seen _The Lion King_?" Tonks said, raising an eyebrow. "_I Just Can't Wait to be King?_ Really? Thousands of years of songs and you pick that one?"

He rolled his eyes at her, grinning. Another lever, a set of coordinates – didn't matter how upset the TARDIS was with him, flying through the Horsehead Nebula would _not _be the way to fix it.

Tonks shook her head. "Anyway, I thought the universe was a sphere."

"Well," he waved one hand absently, "yours is a bit – a – just a little bitty thing stealing from a hundred others. This one is, though. Well, it's more of an ellipse. Close enough anyway."

She gave him a sceptical look. "So how can it have an edge?"

Ooh, smart companion. He _liked_ smart companions. Still, she wasn't right, not really. "It's not really an edge, more – more of a – a – a boundary? Sort of – it's the spot where two universes touch." The words spilled out, like – like water over a waterfall. Or something like that. He _liked_ sharing information, especially in areas where he was smarter than anyone else. "They used to be controlled and monitored by the Time Lords but now – anyway. I'm going to shut this one down. It's too dangerous," he said, almost serious – why would he be serious? He didn't need to be serious, not now, not when he had found the trick to defeat _death_ itself – and grinned at Tonks.

"Why?" Tonks asked. "I didn't think _anything_ was too dangerous for you."

_Truth_.

He shrugged, grabbing the hammer and pounding on a stuck button. If he could defeat death, then so could the Cor – the other Time Lords, and they couldn't be allowed to do that, they didn't have the experience or wisdom or intelligence necessary to do it properly. Not like him. It was for their own good, really, that he was doing this. Letting two other Time Lords do whatever they wanted would wreck the universe, and them with it. "There are some risks I won't take," he said calmly.

She made eye contact with him. "Doctor – you can trust me."

"I know," he said instantly. "Never fear, Nymphadora Tonks, you are _my_ companion and I trust you with everything. You are the most important person in the universe to me." He made steady eye contact with her, looking deep into her pale green eyes.

Tonks swallowed. "What about Susan?"

What about Susan? He hadn't thought about her for – days, easily. Was there something relevant about Susan? Oh – "Gone. She's – gone. That's what I'm doing now, making sure it can't happen again." No more Time Lords, no more Time War. Easy solution.

"How do you mean?" Tonks burst out.

The Doctor frowned at her. Didn't she know – evidently not. Why not? She'd seen Seven – oh. Not Eight, not any of Eight's glory nor Nine's depression and sorrow. He didn't understand why his former regeneration had mourned for so long – after all, it was something that had to happen, the fall of the Time Lords, and if he was the one to do it, to save the universe from his species' terrible victory, then that was what it took.

Tonks' eyes opened wide. "Doctor – what's wrong?"

Happy. He had to be happy, because if he wasn't happy, Tonks was worried, and she couldn't be worried, that wasn't right. He grinned, throwing another lever. "Nothing! Everything's perfect – and if it's not perfect now, it's going to be!"

The TARDIS landed with her usual thud, and he ran over to the doors, flinging them open. Holding onto the doorframe, he let his body hang out, into empty space. "Perfect! Right in front of it – not that _you_ were a lot of help, you old thing," he told the TARDIS. "Had to give you directions, didn't I?"

Behind him, a light flashed angrily on the console. He ignored it, focusing on the new view. They'd materialized in the middle of deep space, no stars or galaxies to orbit around. But in front of them – he laughed. In front of them was a shimmering, glistening curtain of light, faded pale pinks and purples and blues. A curtain of light stretched across space and across time.

Tonks moved, her feet thudding against the grating. "Where – where are we?"

He spun, throwing himself back into the TARDIS and almost hitting her. It was impossible to miss the way she flinched back from him, making him frown momentarily. This again. Why wouldn't she touch him? It wasn't as if he carried a disease or anything. "Right out there," he said, grinning still, "That's a crack. That's what one looks like when there's nothing around it. And through that crack – your universe." Now was his favourite bit – now was when the companion told him how brilliant he was, and he just got to stand there and grin.

"That's the crack you're gonna close? The – the one that takes me home?"

Ooh, that wasn't quite the right tone. That was – worried and slightly disproving, not the right tone at all. He nodded cockily, making approving noises. "'S too dangerous to leave open," he explained, hoping to soothe her.

Tonks gave him a long steady look. "Why?"

This wasn't going in quite the right direction. Maybe he'd have to slow down and explain himself, as much as he hated to do it. "The –" He waved a hand. "The other Time lords. _I_ can change history, but they're too reckless, too wild. I have to trap them where they can't do any damage. It's my responsibility."

Her jaw literally dropped. It just fell open and hung there. He didn't know why. Maybe it was a wizard thing? Witch thing, rather? It wasn't a particularly attractive look, and he was just about to point this out to her when she began talking again. "And – and my universe – it's okay if the Master destroys that?"

He opened his mouth, closed it, and then opened it again. "_Your_ universe. I like that. Tonks's universe. No – doesn't flow quite right. Nymphadora's universe. Much better. Less ess-es. Whaddya say – one last trip. I'll write your name in stars so it's visible across the Northern Hemisphere and everyone'll know – Nymphadora's Earth." He threw a hand out, grinning. It was a wonderful idea – leave the mark of his companion hanging over the planet the Master would be stuck on – yes, wonderful.

"No!" Nymphadora jerked away from him, her hair darkening to red. "Doctor – you can't!"

He frowned, moving toward her. "Why not? There's no one left to stop me, no _reason_ for me to stop. Why can't I do whatever I want?"

She shook her head, backing further into the TARDIS. "No, no, no! What about the Time Lords? They made you regenerate before, when you broke their laws – they could do it again!"

The Doctor grinned fiercely. "The Time Lords are all dead. All but the Corsair and the Master. All the rest are very, very dead."

Nymphadora paled. Leaning against the console, she shook her head. "No. Not possible. Why – how?"

"Me," he said vindictively. "I killed them. The Time Lords' reign is done. With the universes closed – _properly_ closed, to fix what should _never _have been broken – it'll only be me. Me! Because you know what? The Laws of Time are _mine_ now! And they will _obey me!_"

The doors to the TARDIS slammed shut. The lights in the console room dimmed until it was hard for _him_ to see; for Nymphadora it must have been pitch black.

He lunged forward, up the ramp, towards the console. "Lights on!"

An unhappy whir came from the console.

"Oi, lights _on!_" His hand came to rest on a support strut. Reaching over, he pulled on a lever. He wasn't sure what this one did, but if his TARDIS was damaged – hysterical energy gave way to cold anger. He would tear apart the universe for her. He had.

Nymphadora gasped. "Doctor – you're hurting her."

Around them, a deep bell tolled.

He spun, frowning. "How did you know that?" Running over to her, he grabbed her shoulders. "Tell me! How did you know that?"

In the darkness, he could just see the human shake her head. "I – I don't know."

The Doctor shuddered, not from fear or cold, but sheer energy coursing through him. He could do anything. "The Cloister Room. Something's wrong. I can fix it from the Cloister Room." The words tumbled out of his mouth. He explained himself. That was what he did. Even when he didn't need to, he explained himself.

Nymphadora backed away slowly, not responding.

"Come with me." His hands leapt out and grabbed her shoulders. "You're my companion. Come with me."

She shook her head slowly, trembling under his hands.

He frowned. She was his companion. She wasn't supposed to do that. Moving one hand up to her face, he reached into her mind and altered one – _two_ tiny thoughts, changed them just enough that she wouldn't argue, just enough that she would trust him with everything that she was. Making sure she couldn't disobey him, couldn't argue, couldn't talk. He pulled out rapidly, grinning down at her. "There we go. Come along, Nymphadora."

She began to follow him, a vapid expression on her face.

That worried him, but there wasn't anything for it right then. He couldn't undo the changes without losing her as a companion. Patting her shoulder, he spun and began running deeper into the TARDIS.


	36. A Mad Man With a Box, VII

**Doctor Who, Special Series; Episode 7: A Mad Man With A Box**

**A/N: Did you know it took me until I was writing this note to realize how oddly appropriate the title of this episode is. I originally chose it because the Doctor gets his TARDIS back. It wasn't until later that he goes insane as well.**

**Thanks to: DragonRose4, Twicked, Ptroxsora, Kudo Shinichi Tanteisan, FlyingLovegood123, Kohaku The Otaku, LilyLunaPotter142, and Jayie of Hufflepuff.**

**Fun Fact: … I don't have any… I am ashamed of myself…**

**WARNING: This chapter contains emotional and mental manipulation. If either of those are triggers for you, I would recommend skipping this whole chapter and coming back at the beginning of Episode 8. Also bizarre use of causality and the laws of physics, but that's more disorienting than anything else.**

* * *

The TARDIS wasn't happy with him.

He couldn't figure out why. He hadn't done anything, not really. Tonks was just one human, why would his TARDIS care if he'd fiddled with her mind a little bit?

But his TARDIS really wasn't happy with him. He was just trying to get to the Cloister Room, to make that damned bell stop ringing, and she kept _fiddling_ with things. A corridor that he knew was straight had turns in it, one ended in a fifteen foot drop to the kitchens, another ran in an infinite loop.

Of course, he had a few tricks up his sleeve as well. The Laws of Time were his – that meant causality was little more than a convenient crutch, to be used only when needed. He flew around the turns at top speed, warping the impact of his shoes against the grating to allow him to turn that fast. The fifteen foot drop could have been three inches for all he noticed it; he stood on air for a second before turning around and running back down the corridor. The infinite loop gave him pause for a moment – once in, there was no way out – until he looped time around it; the complexities forcing the collapse of a singularity in the centre of the TARDIS. She whisked it away – to use for fuel, probably – but that collapse allowed him out into more normal corridors again.

Nymphadora followed slowly. She could run – and that reminded him, he needed to fix her shins, medical engineering not being something that causality could help – but it was slow, and every so often, he had to stop and wait for her.

That was annoying, but he could slow time for himself, meaning that it only took him three minutes to get to the Cloister Room. Three minutes by TARDIS-time, at least. It was twenty-seven minutes for him – twenty-seven minutes, fifteen seconds, three hundred and forty-six milliseconds.

The Cloister Room was where the mind of the TARDIS was stored. Her heart was in the console room, but her mind was kept in the deepest rooms, protected by every defence she could conceive of.

None of them held against him. His genetic coding ran through her walls. She could no more stop him than he could destroy her. Their bond wouldn't allow it.

Throwing open the door, he ran into the Cloister Room, headed straight for the warning panel, the source of the bell. Nymphadora followed him and leaned against a wall, panting.

He bent over the panel and began reprogramming. Breaking the laws of the Time Lords shouldn't set off the Cloister Bell; that was going to get annoying really fast. So he had to change it, and maybe while he was at it, he could tone down the TARDIS's personality. Not a lot, but she didn't need to be that pushy.

"Doctor?"

His head shot up. That was Nymphadora. But she couldn't speak, he had turned that off! So how was she?

Nymphadora was staring at him, her hair a faded brown, her eyes similar. "I – I was wrong," she said, her voice growing stronger with every word. "You're just like Barty Crouch."

He flinched, wondered why that sentence affected him so much, and then remembered. When he first met her. When he first saw that determined, loyal, _young_ girl standing up against the worst the Time Lords had to offer.

Except the Master wasn't the worst.

The Master was insane, and had the emotional range of a rabid tiger, and all of the morals of a half-starved wolverine. But he wasn't the worst.

_He_ was, the Doctor, the saviour of worlds, the healer of the universe, _he_ could destroy it all if he ever lost control. And he had. He had lost control so badly he had attacked his companion, damaged his TARDIS – warped time for no reason other than his convenience.

Rassilon would have been pleased.

A strangled whimper escaped his throat. His knees collapsed, and he fell shakily to the floor, arms wrapped around his chest. Rocking back and forth, he whined, mind too shaken to do anything else.

Tonks stared down at him, looking worried – and scared. He had made her _scared_. Of _him._

What had he become?

Tonks. Tonks. He had to fix Tonks. If he had nothing else to hold on to – and he wasn't sure that he _did_, anymore – it was Tonks, who had to be healthy and happy and _sane_ and amazing, and right now she wasn't, and it was all his fault –

All of it. His fault. Every single thing he touched died and it was all his fault.

He closed his eyes, retreating inwards. All of his boundaries were gone. He had walls, walls of rules and restrictions, walls designed to protect the universe from himself.

They were all gone.

So that was the first step on a road he wasn't sure he wanted to take, but one that he _had_ to take, to help Tonks if nothing else: He had to rebuild his walls.

_Rule 1: I will not break the core laws of the Time Lords._

That was the first plank, and the second and the third. Each plank was a law, drilled into him so there was no way to forget them without ruining his mind, and he formed them into the first outline of a palisade.

_Rule 2: I will not enter another's mind without permission. I will _never_ alter another's mind, with or without their permission._

Mind control was a slippery slope with an angle of 79 degrees. Once he started again, he wouldn't stop. The only thing he would allow himself was the ability to put Tonks' mind back together. Everything else was getting shut down.

_Rule 3: Fixed points in time are _fixed._ I will not interfere with them._

_Rule 4: I will avoid paradoxes at all costs._

_Rule 5: No one is expendable. Everyone has value._

The unspoken, unthought corollary that hid in the depths of his mind: _Except for me._

_Rule 6: If I lack a moral opinion on something, my companion is right._

It terrified him, sometimes, when he was feeling particularly human, how much he relied on his companions for even the most basic problems.

_Rule 7: My companion is my moral compass; as such, they are to be protected above all else_.

He didn't think too much about the intersection between rule 5 and rule 7. He didn't want to admit to himself that he would save his companions even if it meant sacrificing an entire world.

_Rule 8: Weapons are not to be used except in instances of extreme need. Swords are acceptable for this purpose. Guns are not._

_Rule 9: Everyone makes mistakes. Make sure to give them a chance._

And again the unspoken corollary: _Except for me._

_Rule 10: Friendship with my companions is allowed and encouraged. Physical attraction is not. I cannot afford to be distracted._

Rule 10 was because of Rose. He wasn't going to put anyone else through that ever again. No matter how much he wanted, it wasn't worth it. His presence could never make up for the pain of leaving.

They were his walls. High and strong and designed to keep the worst of himself trapped.

He had other layers, other barricades he would put up later, but those ten rules were the only ones he _never_ broke, not without severe complications.

The Doctor opened his eyes. Tonks was crouching in front of him, looking worried.

"Doctor?"

He clamped down on his tongue, holding back his words until he could get control of himself. "Yeah. I'm alright."

She raised an eyebrow, backing away slightly. "You sure? 'Cause you weren't, a minute ago."

"Yeah." He lunged upright, unsure whether he was responding to the question or the statement.

Tonks flinched, taking another step back.

His eyes widened as he realized. She was afraid of him. She expected him to hurt her again, and she didn't realize, because he hadn't given her a reason to, that he would never _ever_ hurt her again, it wasn't in him anymore, it wasn't possible.

He gasped a breath in, crossing his arms over his chest, looking down. "Tonks – Nymphadora Tonks, I'm sorry."

She shook her head, but remained where she was. "I – I don't – _why?_"

He didn't explain, he _couldn't_ explain, the insanity of a Time Lord was not like the insanity of any other creature, so he tried something else. "I can put it back. Fix your mind. Back the way it used to be."

Tonks shuddered. "You shut it down. I couldn't speak, couldn't _think!_"

"Yes," he said quietly. "I – I did. Tonks – I need to know. How did you break it?" He'd altered her _mind_. There shouldn't have been a way back from that, not unless he did it, and he hadn't.

She swallowed, not quite meeting his eyes. "The TARDIS. Just – just a little bit of her. She opened up my mind and – and let me talk again. I – I still couldn't – still _can't_ l-l-_leave_ you. Hard to even _think_ of – of it."

He nodded, trying hard to ignore the atrocity he had committed while – while insane. Violating someone's mind like that – he didn't have many morals on his own, but that was one of them. "The blocks are still there, then. She couldn't break them on her own, not without –" He stopped that sentence there, all too aware of how fragile Tonks' mental stability was. "So she placed herself between your mind and the blocks and let you work through her. You – you'll – unless you let me back in, you'll revert back the instant you step outside the TARDIS."

She flinched and stepped back again, face deathly pale. "To – to remove the – the blocks, you need to go in my head again, don't you?"

The Doctor nodded slowly. "I – I'm sorry, Tonks, I really am, but –"

"How do I know I can trust you?" Her eyes, dark brown, stared into his own.

So many answers, so few of them right. He stared at her, mouth working silently for a moment. "You – you can't," he said, the words just barely audible in the silent room.

She nodded, beginning to smile, for some reason. "Thank you," she whispered. "For telling me the truth. Go ahead, Doctor. I trust you."

He stared at her blankly, trying to understand this. "What – why? But – but – but –"

Tonks smiled shakily at him. "Just fix me, Doctor. You didn't lie. When you had every reason to, you didn't lie. I trust you to do it right." She wrapped her fingers around his wrist and placed his hand on her cheek. "Go ahead."

The Doctor swallowed, slowly extending his mind again, letting it brush against Tonks'.

_Is this alright?_

Her eyes widened. "Oh dear Merlin."

He froze, both physically and mentally. _Are you alright? Do you need me to pull out?_

"No, no, it's fine," she said, her short, rapid breaths giving the lie to her words. "It's just – nothing like Legilimency."

The Doctor tried not to grin and failed. _Of course it's not. Legilimency is a human thing. I'm a Time Lord._

She forced up a smile. "Right. 'Course. I see your cockiness isn't a product of your insanity."

He chuckled into her mind, making her squeak in surprise. _I'm always insane, Nymphadora Tonks. In fact I seem to recall calling myself insane at least once._

Tonks raised an eyebrow, beginning to relax. "Really? I don't remember that?"

_You certain? I _am_ a Time Lord after all, and Time Lords have –_

"An infinite capacity for pretension," she interrupted.

He laughed again, weaving his way into her mind now that she was more relaxed, and pulling down the blocks. _I do remember that one. Hand of Omega, wasn't it? With Daleks and Ace?_

She nodded, gasping. "Oh – you fixed it. I – Thank you, Doctor," she said, pulling away from him, and letting his hand drop.

The Doctor slipped out of her mind, jamming his hands in his pockets. "Yeah. Fixed it. That's what I do. Fix things. Should – I should take you back. Yeah. I'll take you back home, return you to your parents. Then I'll round up the Master and the Corsair and all the rest – Jack, Martha, her soldiers – and we'll all leave and you'll never –"

"No!" Tonks jerked, staring at him. "Doctor, don't. Please. I – Just promise me you'll never do that again."

Hope bloomed in his hearts, but sorrow grew faster. "I can't. Sometimes I lose control, Tonks, and if I do again," he looked at her from under his fringe, not sure how to explain, "I – I won't be able to stop – you were the only reason I stopped this time."

She tossed long pink hair out of her face, giving him a _look_. "If I was the reason you stopped this time, why wouldn't I be able to do it again? Isn't that the point of companions? To help?"

He blinked. "I – well – yes? But – you want to _stay_? Why?"

Tonks smiled sadly. "Two reasons. I'm a Hufflepuff – loyalty, remember? And if I can stop you, then shouldn't I stay? Even – even if I – I'm scared –"

The Doctor flinched.

"I shouldn't leave you on your own. It'd be worse if there wasn't anyone to stop you, and it looks like that's me."

He took in a deep breath and held it for a minute. "Right then. I – _we_ should still go back to your universe and clean up there. 'Cause something's wrong, Tonks, something's very, very wrong, and it has to do with your universe and those cracks." Smiling shakily at her, he turned to face the doors out of the Cloister Room. "Sorry dear!" he called out. "Am I forgiven yet?"

The doors swung open, revealing the console room beyond. Tonks blinked. "Ah. She can rearrange the rooms."

Grinning, the Doctor bounded forward and reached for the controls. "That means 'yes'," he explained. "Can't talk to me, and putting up messages takes a little more of her concentration than either of us like. So – this." He waved one hand, letting the other rest on the console.

The TARDIS purred in his mind, happy that he was back, and annoyed that he had gone insane in the first place. He patted her, weaving their minds together.

As he threw her into the Time Vortex, the image of a sheet of A4 paper flashed into his mind. Why? Why was that so familiar – _oh_. "Tonks, how about a _brief_ little detour?"

"You can't pilot the TARDIS as it is, I don't see why a detour would make any difference," Tonks muttered, closing the doors behind her as she strolled into the console room.

He stuck his tongue out at her, entering coordinates again. "Can too fly my TARDIS."

She raised an eyebrow. "Really? Then how come you end up in the wrong spot half the time?"

"'Cause – 'cause –" He gave up and just waved a hand. "TARDISes are meant to be flown by _six_ Time Lords, not one."

Tonks snickered, grabbing onto a support strut on the opposite side of the room. "So where's this 'little detour' to, then?"

He grinned, grabbing the hammer. That one sticky button – he'd fix it, but it was too much fun to hit it with a hammer. "June 26th, 1995. The day after Voldemort's return, the day after I woke up. The day I found a note from myself – a note that I've got to write, so just keep us flying steady, dear." Returning the hammer to its hook, he pulled a sheet of paper from underneath the console and pen from his pocket.

Settling down on the pilot's chair, he began to write a letter. To himself. In the past. It was all very confusing and complicated. Just the way he liked it, really.

Across the room, Tonks smiled.

The TARDIS flew on.

* * *

_Next time on Doctor Who – Episode 8: The Predator of the Daleks._

"EXTERMINATE_!"_

…

"_Hello."_

"_Doctor. Thank _god_ you decided to answer."_

"_Martha. What's wrong?"_

"_Daleks."_

…

"_And here we are!"_

"_Where's 'here'? What happened to environment checks?"_

"_We're in the middle of London. London, England, Earth. What could go wro– Well, yes, it would have been nice to know that my TARDIS decided to land us in the middle of _theMinistryofMagic_!"_

…

"_You haven't told them?"_

"_Why would I? This way, they don't question me. I can hide until you and your _boyfriend_ leave and go home. I don't need to get involved in your masochistic mating ritual."_

…

"_That doesn't sound like a plan."_

"_Is too."_

"_Really? When, where, and how?"_

"_Don't know, don't know, and will figure it out when we get there. Any questions?"_

…

"_Renegade Time War Daleks. What could be better."_

"_What was the other option?"_

"_Imperial Time War Daleks."_

…

"_Ah. A side effect of fighting Time War Daleks – they have Time War tech."_


	37. The Predator of the Daleks, I

**Doctor Who, Special Series; Episode 8: The Predator of the Daleks**

**A/N: We are now at the halfway point in terms of chapters and episodes. 7 down, 7 to go! Theoretically, also halfway done in terms of words, but since original plotting put halfway at 70k, and we're already at 100k… Anyway, the chapter. :D The second chapter of Twicked's one-shot-turned-epic-rabid-plot-bunny is up; if you're missing Jack, you might want to go see that.**

**Thanks to: Paul, JoojooBrother, Ptroxsora, Iamthe42, OhShirleyUJest, FlyingLovegood123, Twicked, FaeBreeze, and LilyLunaPotter142.**

**Fun fact: English isn't actually built to allow someone to write about an event that has not, is not, and will never happen(ed)(ing), but what if it did? (ie, trying to write about breaking a fixed point in time. See below.)**

* * *

Mathias Henri d'Aumâle was, perhaps, a bit drunk. At any other point in the process, he would have been eager to clarify that this wasn't his fault, but being at that state of pleasant inebriation where everything is a source of vague amusement, he was far more likely to ask, in French-accented English, for another glass of wine.

Since he was in a pub, he would end up with a mug of ale. This was, in point of fact, his fault. It had been his idea to go get drunk in a Muggle pub, owing as how he had never been through the experience before and was rapidly approaching the age where things of that sort were Not Done. The list of things Not Done was formulated by his mother, and included such items as Not Killing One's Siblings and Not Buttoning One's Shirt Up The Wrong Way.

Mathias could, however, be forgiven for being a bit drunk in a Muggle pub. He will, after all, die the next day. This had always been a fixed point in time. If he would have had lived, he would have was going to discover the edge of the universe. Since the universe obviously had a problem with people finding its non-existent edges, this would have had had to be prevented. In one timeline, he would have was going to die in a mock battle gone horribly wrong two weeks after the bout of drunkenness in a Muggle pub. This was, in any timeline, also something Not Done, but it would have didn't matter to Mathias anymore.

In _this_ timeline, however, Mathias will die the day after the pub incident.

This, it must be made clear, will not be his fault. Nor will it be the fault of the drunkenness. That, in fact, will preserve his life long enough to save the universe. More or less.

Not that Mathias Henri d'Aumâle knew any of this, of course. He knew a lot of things – and thought he knew more – but his impending death was not one of them.

* * *

One thing in particular that Mathias Henri d'Aumâle knew when he woke up for the first time on the morning after the Pub Incident – now awarded capitals in his mind – was that he was hung-over. This almost immediately resulted in his turning over and going back to sleep, an action that saved his life.

The second time Mathias woke up, it was to screams.

* * *

Mathias Henri d'Aumâle was a pureblood of the d'Aumâle House. He could recite his lineage back to the Norman Conquest, and, unlike the Malfoys – something that his father delighted in pointing out at every opportunity – their ancestors had been noblemen in France, rather than liegemen ennobled in the new country. Everyone in his family had been Sorted into Ravenclaw or Slytherin for the past three centuries – he had been the scion of Slytherin house for seven years – except for that one Hufflepuff cousin that nobody liked to bring up. The majority of the family were bureaucrats or lobbyists or not infrequently both, but spell inventor or Potions Master were both considered Respectable Positions, as his mother never failed to point out when he went home.

Mathias was an Auror Trainee.

This was a source of great displeasure to his mother, who felt that her eldest son could really do something better with his life. That his chosen profession annoyed his mother was something Mathias found very cathartic. The pretty women were just a side benefit.

Being an Auror Trainee was normally a step on the way to becoming an Auror, but Mathias had his career path mapped out all the way to his election as Minister for Magic. He was, after all, a Slytherin.

He was also blissfully unaware that he was currently top-ranked in the long-running Auror poll, "Most Likely To Remain A Trainee For All Eternity." He never found out about this, but it does provide an accurate impression of his character.

The d'Aumâle family was an old pureblood family, but none of its members supported He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. They universally viewed the Dark Lord as a maniac, his Death Eaters as terrorists, and their methods as unsavoury. Mathias joined his family in this, sharing with them as he did a love of pleasure and a general impression of elitism. The d'Aumâle family did not need to kill to prove their worth. It was simply expected that they _were_ better than anyone not them. It was one of the Fundamental Truths of Society.

Mathias was, in short, a product of his class. He was not a nice man, but he was a typical product of a society that, while it had left the Middle Ages, seemed to be stuck around the Gregorian Era for lack of a reason to move on.

None of this – not his family, his money, his pride, or his intelligence – would make any difference against the horror that was coming.

* * *

Grumbling, Mathias pulled on his Auror uniform. He shared the room with five others, none of whom were there. Head pounding, he vainly wished for a Hangover Potion, or, barring that, some good wine. Neither materialized. He groaned, realizing that he was probably missing morning drills, something he prayed for, usually, because they took place outside, with the entire Camp watching, but being caught missing them meant two weeks patrol duty.

The headache remained. It was probably a result of the screams, and not of the ale from the night before, he rationalized.

Wait.

Screams?

Brain beginning to function, Mathias stumbled over to the window. Even in the Auror Training Camp, screams were not a normal occurrence. He stuck his head out the window and looked out into chaos.

A storey below, Aurors and Auror Trainees were fighting – something. Many somethings. And dying, by the sounds of it. He winced as he watched Maddy Balmer fall to a burst of blue light. He didn't like her – she had attempted to disabuse him of the notion that all members of the lower classes were morons and their relationship had gone downhill from there – but that didn't mean she had to _die_.

Mathias had to sit down for a minute and think.

There were one hundred Trainees at the camp at any one time, and ten teachers. There couldn't have been more than ten of the monsters, which left eleven fully-trained wizards for each attacker. The attackers were winning.

Mathias was not the _best_ Auror Trainee – in fact, he was in free-fall towards earning the title of the Worst – but he was good with spells. They just, on the whole, weren't the right ones. And one of those spells was a rather tricky Transfiguration that turned a piece of parchment into a bird, and another was a Charm that would send the bird to any person he wanted.

Quickly, he ran to his trunk and pulled out parchment, quill, and ink.

_To whom it may concern_, he wrote neatly – having been taught that a proper introduction and good handwriting were the two most important things in any letter – _The Auror Trainee Camp is under attack. Enemies are unknown, but seem to be very powerful. They are not human._ His quill stuttered on this last, but he didn't have time to rewrite the whole thing. _Please help. Sincerely, Mathias Henri d'Aumâle_.

He didn't bother with his titles. Even his admittedly bizarre sense of priorities didn't extend that far. Pulling out his wand, he cast the two spells, sending the small parchment bird off into the dawn – to the only person he could think of – to the Head Auror, Rufus Scrimgeour.

Then he left his room, running down the stairs and headlong into one of the monsters. He was dead before he could cast a spell.

"_EXTERMINATE!_"


	38. The Predator of the Daleks, II

**Doctor Who, Special Series; Episode 8: The Predator of the Daleks  
**

**A/N NEW: skdlfjslfsj. So I overslept and almost missed my bus and had to deal with family and only got around to posting this at 12pm PST. Then I get a message from a friend saying that it didn't actually work. Then I had family things and life and other non-internet activities. ANYWAY, sorry about the delay on this chapter. Hopefully it's fixed now.**

**A/N: Hello. Just wanted to say that I love you all but love you more when you review. Also, I have a tumblr now, which is a slightly terrifying idea. The link is on my profile at the top.**

**Thanks to: Paul, Twicked, OhShirleyUJest, FlyingLovegood123, Ptroxsora, Wonderbee31, Dark Dark Angel, DragonRose4, and LilyLunaPotter142**

**Questions nobody has asked yet but probably really should have: Why was Harry at Hogwarts over Christmas break in this fic when in the books he went to Grimmauld Place?**

**Answers to the question: Because Tonks swanned off to go travel with the Doctor, the guard rotation on the Hall of Prophecies is slightly different in this fic than it is in canon. In this fic, Kingsley Shacklebolt was on duty that night; while most of the events of that night went as per canon, it was deemed safest to leave Harry at Hogwarts as Kingsley was not a close family/friend.**

* * *

Things were sort of getting back to normal – whatever _normal_ was for a legendary quasi-immortal alien and a young human with magical powers. The Doctor and Tonks spent the better part of a day in the Time Vortex just drifting and trying to come to grips with what had happened. Trying to deal with his insanity and restore _something_ to their relationship.

The Doctor cast a look across the console room at Tonks. She had settled – not _well_, per se, but close enough that anyone who wasn't very good at observation wouldn't notice the changes. Of course, he was very good at observation.

Tonks was scared of him. She froze – just for the briefest instant, but long enough for him to notice – every time she looked at him, and whenever they brushed past each other she flinched away. She trusted him, though, which made no sense at all. And she'd had great fun when they went to leave the note for himself, tromping about the woods and almost getting eaten by the Acromantula. But still – she was damaged. And he didn't know how to fix it.

He was damaged, too, he was just better at ignoring it. He had, deny it all he liked, gone completely insane. There had been no more barriers between him and the universe. If Tonks had not spoken up when she had, he would have been lost.

_I could have destroyed reality._

He still could, he knew that, but now he was caged. It was a welcome cage, and one whose absence terrified him whenever he got out, but it was still a cage, and he still pushed against it. It was worst right after he put it back up, and best right before it came down, which meant he was restless and pushy and tense and nervous and a thousand other tangled up feelings because he had willingly chained himself up again.

The Doctor never claimed to be simple.

"So, Tonks," he said abruptly, leaning back in the pilot's chair, feet on the console, "where are we off to next?"

She raised an eyebrow. "Aren't you the pilot?"

He shrugged, trying to pretend he hadn't seen her flicker of fear when he spoke. "Yeah, but if there's any place you wanted to go – we'd just have to be careful about my timeline –"

The mobile on the console rang.

"You've got a phone?" Tonks asked.

The Doctor gave her a look. "Course I've got a phone. Why wouldn't anyone have a phone?" Realizing that Tonks was staring at him, he picked up the mobile. "Oh – rude – right." He flipped it open and held it up to his ear. "Hello."

"Doctor. Thank _god_ you decided to answer."

He grinned. "_Martha_. What's wrong?" Something was wrong, of course something was wrong, she wouldn't have called unless something was wrong.

"Daleks."

His hearts stopped. "Are – are you certain?"

"No, you skinny idiot, I'm making things up. _Yes_, I'm sure" Clearly, Martha had long since run out of patience.

He forced up a chuckle. "You're channelling Donna."

That got a shaky laugh. "Great. Moving on. We don't know how many. Enough to take out a hundred and ten Aurors and only lose one of their own. That's how we know what we're facing. One of the Aurors contacted Scrimgeour before his death, which meant Kingsley knew, and he told Moody. I wasn't allowed to go to the site, but I've seen the Pensive memories. It's them."

He swallowed. "Why? Why does it have to be them?" he asked quietly. He hated fighting Daleks, hated it worse than any other opponent. They reminded him of the Time War, every time he saw them, but it wasn't just that. It was their hatred, their inability to stop, the need to kill every single one of them in order to "win". How much they reminded him of himself.

"I don't know, Doctor," Martha said, evidently trying to keep him calm. "But come quickly. I'm in London right now."

He nodded, beginning to pull switches. "We're on our way."

With a click, Martha hung up.

"What's up?" Tonks looked at him across the console, curiosity dampening out the fear.

"Here. Catch." The Doctor tossed the mobile across the console. "The – the – the little screen – thing. There's a date and time. Read it to me."

Tonks fumbled for the phone and promptly dropped it on the grating. "Bloody hell."

The Doctor looked up from modifying the coordinates. "It's been strengthened. I need you to read me those –"

Tonks sighed, picking up the phone. "February 9th, 10:57 am."

"Another month?" He shrugged, accepting the loss of time easily. "Alright. February 9th, we'll land at 11:15 am. 1996, I assume?" He pulled another lever and typed in the coordinates. "And then – Daleks."

She hissed in sharply and put the mobile back on the console. "Merlin – Daleks? Still? I thought you blew them all up with Skaro."

The Doctor let out a slight groan, leaning against the console. "So did I," he said tiredly. "And yet – they survive. As do I, I suppose."

"Don't." Tonks looked at him, for the first time without a flash of fear in her eyes. "Don't compare yourself to them. You – you _stopped_. They never will."

He looked at her, wishing that his naked hope didn't show – hope mixed with the fear that someday he _wouldn't_ stop. "And here we are!" he said, landing the TARDIS.

"Where's 'here'?" Tonks crossed her arms. "What happened to environment checks?"

The Doctor rolled his eyes. "We're in the middle of London. London, England, Earth. What could go wro–" He opened the doors and stopped. "Well, yes, it would have been nice to know that my TARDIS decided to land us in the middle of _the Ministry of Magic_!" he yelled at the console.

A light flashed apologetically.

"Right, well, too late now." He sighed, stepping out of the TARDIS. "She likes the Department of Mysteries," he explained to Tonks. "Gallifrey only knows why, but she does."

Tonks snorted. "At least we hit London. That's better than a lot of your trips."

The Doctor grinned. Joking was good. Joking meant she was beginning to relax around him. "And –" He checked Time. "Right date, as well. 11:32 am. Not bad for an old rust bucket, eh girl?"

The TARDIS brushed in an amused fashion across his mind.

"Come along, Tonks. TARDIS – power down. Let's not have any fun visitors, shall we?"

Lights flickered out as Tonks left the TARDIS. Not bothering to conceal his surprise, the Doctor grinned. "Where in the Department are we?"

Tonks blinked, surprised – but not afraid. Not afraid was good. "Ah – when we were getting debriefed. On standing guard over the – the –" She waved a hand.

He nodded. "The prophecy. Yeah, I know. What about it?"

"The Headmaster told us a bit about each of the rooms. He said there's one that's kept always locked, that – that contains a force more wonderful and terrible than death, er – than human intelligence, than the forces of nature." She chewed on her bottom lip, thinking.

The Doctor quirked an eyebrow, amused. "You memorized it?"

Tonks blushed. "He – he's a hero. Of course I memorized it."

Grinning, he began to walk away from the TARDIS. "According to Albus, when'd this room come into use?"

She frowned. "Ah – about twelve – no. Thirteen years ago, now."

He chuckled, hands in his pockets. "Albus told you it was a room of _love_, didn't he?"

Tonks blinked, following him hurriedly. "Love is a better motivator than hate for most spells."

"The room was sealed off because my TARDIS wouldn't let anyone in. The force more wonderful and terrible than death, human intelligence, and the forces of nature was a Type 40 TARDIS." He grinned with pride at _his_ TARDIS, the only one left – the most amazing thing in the world for him.

She laughed, shaking her head. "Only you, Doctor. Shouldn't we be going?"

He made a face at her, making her snort again. Good. "Right-o then. _Allons-y_, Tonks!"

It turned out that Aurors could Apparate into and out of the Ministry at will. It also turned out that no one bothered removing dead Aurors from the list of people who could Apparate into and out of the Ministry. The Doctor was thrilled with this revelation and spent several minutes expounding to Tonks both how much of a security breach it was and how potentially useful it could be if he ever needed to attack the Ministry before Tonks ran out of patience and grabbed his arm.

Apparation after re-joining his TARDIS was substantially different from Apparation before. Now there were three – Time, himself, and his TARDIS – and they wound around and within each other and he was whole and they were bound together in a way that he hadn't been since the Time War.

And then they landed and it was over.

"Right," the Doctor said, cracking the bones in his neck, brain not yet unscrambled enough to process all of the visual information. "Where are we?"

Tonks pulled her hand away from his quickly – they'd had to hold hands in order to Apparate, but it hadn't meant that the Doctor missed the flash of terror across her face when she held out her hand to him. "You can't imagine how much fun it is to hear _you_ asking the question for once. About two blocks away from Grimmauld Place. Do you – I don't have – _damnit_."

It took a minute for the Doctor to put this together, but when he did, he beamed. "I've already been."

Tonks noticeably relaxed. "Ah. Well then. It's just down here." Turning, she led the way down one street and over another.

Recognizing the street, the Doctor bounded ahead and pounded on the door of Number 12, Grimmauld Place.

"Did you have caffeine for breakfast today or something?" Tonks grumbled, catching up to him.

He ignored this, smiling brightly when the door opened. "Hello. I'm the Doctor! I'm here about your Dalek problem."

Tonks snorted. "Some days I worry about you."

The tall black man who had answered the door blinked coolly at him. "Tonks," he said, looking around the Doctor. "Good to see you again."

Tonks grinned, almost – but not quite – nudging the Doctor out of the way. The Doctor, immune to such human considerations as personal space, remained right where he was. "Hey, Kingsley. How're things?"

Kingsley – the Doctor took more interest now that he had a name and personality and had even been in the _books_ – sighed. "Lost some friends this morning. We all did, to one degree or another," he said in a low voice that sounded perpetually like it was drawling. He was dressed in red Auror robes that had one sleeve cut off to reveal a white bandage wrapped around one arm.

The Doctor shifted uneasily. "Oh. Right. Sorry about that. It's sort of my fault."

"Stop it," Tonks muttered. "You weren't here. Therefore, it's not your fault. How were you supposed to know that there were still Daleks, let alone that they would come _here_?"

He shot her a glare, but ignored the comment. "Where's Martha?"

Kingsley looked at Tonks and then at the Doctor. "You should come in. Alastor and Albus are already here."

The Doctor grinned. "Brilliant!"

They made it all of two steps into the hallway before another man stepped into the way. "Doctor."

He froze, straightening and throwing the edges of his long-coat back. "Corsair."

The Corsair let shaggy black hair fall into his eyes. "You have some nerve showing up here."

The Doctor shoved his hands in his pockets. "I was invited," he said casually. "Unless, of course, you can handle the Daleks all on your own. In which case, I'd be perfectly happy to leave again."

Black eyes bore into his before flicking down, conceding the point. "I don't want you to come back to my house."

"I'd be thrilled not to," the Doctor snapped. He wasn't doing well with the presence of another Time Lord so close physically, yet so far away emotionally. He couldn't reach out, couldn't make a move to welcome, couldn't do any of the things that culture and genetics said he had to do to greet another of his kind.

The Corsair gave a short, tense nod; he had to be feeling the same as the Doctor. Suddenly, his eyes flicked over to Tonks. "Don't hurt my cousin."

Both he and Tonks tensed at the implications, but only the Doctor moved. Taking a step forward, he met the Corsair's eyes, dangerous and with a slight edge of Oncoming Storm. "Since when have you claimed any relationship with apes?"

The Corsair hissed a breath in, frowning. "_Here-now, I am human,_"he whispered in annoyed Gallifreyan.

The Doctor tried not to let this affect him, the sound of his language after so many years. "_You haven't told them?_" He responded in kind, the fluid musical syllables coming easily off his tongue.

"_Why would I? This way, they don't question me. I can hide until you and your _boyfriend_,_"the word was suddenly, abruptly English, "_leave and go home. I don't need to get involved in your masochistic mating ritual."_

Ignoring the Corsair's assessment of his relationship with the Master, the Doctor jerked his chin up. "_If you haven't told them that you're a danger, you can't worry about me being a danger to one human._"

The Corsair tensed. "_One human that I have grown to care for,_" he admitted slowly.

"Hypocrite," the Doctor spat. "_You are a target for the Master. You put them in danger by being here._"

"_Not as much as you do._"

He flinched, unable to hide how much that hurt. "_I will not hurt _Tonks," he said slowly, using a variant verb form that allowed him to make it clear that he would no longer hurt Tonks but said nothing about the past.

The Corsair picked up on it. Face telegraphing his anger, he stepped toward Tonks. "What did he do to you? What did that _timeline-destroyer_ do to you?"

Tonks couldn't have understood the Gallifreyan insult, but she certainly knew the tone of voice. "I trust the Doctor. I trust him with my life."

"_Does she know that's the choice she's making?_"the Corsair spat.

The Doctor grinned viciously. "_Don't insult my companion's intelligence. Of course she knows. She's known since the beginning._"

"What language is that?" Kingsley asked finally.

The Doctor was impressed that it took him that long to ask. "Mongolian," he lied blandly.

Kingsley's look said he didn't quite believe this, but he didn't question. "Come on, you two. Sirius, quit picking fights, even if it is in a strange language."


	39. The Predator of the Daleks, III

**Doctor Who, Special Series; Episode 8: The Predator of the Daleks**

**A/N: Hello everyone. Sorry about last chapter, hopefully this one goes up on time. **

**Thanks to: Anna McNarin, Yuna Cifer, Wonderbee31, Guest, DragonRose4, Ashlee Pond, SilverLiningofACloud, kamiam714, Ptroxsora, and LilyLunaPotter142.**

**Questions nobody has asked but probably should have: Precise timing things.**

**Answers to the above: Barty Crouch's body and the Doctor's body were swapped approximately one year after the fall of Voldemort the first time, while Barty was still in Azkaban. Shortly after the swap, Crouch Sr. came for his son, thinking only that he had been aged by his time in prison. Everything "Barty" did as Moody during Harry's fourth year was done by the Doctor's body.**

**WARNING: This chapter includes fairly graphic torture, explicit violence, and mentions of rape. Also the Doctor being an insensitive git and Daleks. You have been warned.**

* * *

The kitchen was packed with bodies, some the Doctor knew, others who he could put together with names from the book. Most he didn't. Tonks immediately slipped into the crowd and began chatting, while the Doctor found a corner and watched.

Albus took control shortly thereafter. The meeting, once it settled down, was just like any other revolutionary meeting the Doctor had ever been to. Much discussion, little planning, friendly and not-so-friendly jabs at each other, and a strong sense of friendship.

The Doctor loved it.

Martha made her way to him midway through. "We don't know what they want, where they're going, or how many there are. All we know is that we've got Daleks."

"That's nice," the Doctor said quietly. "What colour?"

Martha blinked. "Seriously? That's your question?"

The Doctor shook his head. "Just answer."

"Grey. It was grey with black – black, you know, those round knobs."

He froze. "Right then. Renegades. Did it, you know, otherwise look like the ones on the Crucible?"

"Yeah." Martha nodded.

_Oh shit._

He could feel his heart rates accelerating, his body moving into fight-or-flight mode. "Renegade Time War Daleks. What could be better."

She looked at him, plainly worried. "What was the other option?"

"Imperial Time War Daleks," he said dryly. "And unless we're incredibly lucky, we've got those too. What killed the one you found?"

Martha crossed her arms. "Kingsley found him."

The Doctor brushed this off. "Whatever. What killed the Dalek?"

"A Reductor curse to the casing, and then some sort of electrical pulse to the creature inside," Severus said coolly. Apparently he had been listening in. That was nice.

Almost as nice – nicer, really – was what that information meant. "Daleks attacking Daleks. Bingo. We just can't catch them on their own. Get the two groups together and you're good."

"What possible definition of 'good' could you be using?" Severus asked.

The Doctor grinned. "Any definition that gives me a hope of getting us out of this. Right, enough chat –"

"Really?" Tonks muttered, having made her way back to him.

He made a face. "Albus. Any word on where they could be?"

The room quieted as Dumbledore shook his head. "None. Less than none, really."

The Doctor sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Severus – got a meeting coming up? Um… Do the Aurors ever all meet together? Any other quasi-military organizations I should know about? The Daleks will go after those first, sources of threat. Alastor, UNIT will be in danger, but I don't think there's enough of them to get across the Channel. Not yet, at least."

Moody looked at him. "How certain are you of that?"

He leaned against the wall. "If there were enough of them to leave Britain right now, they wouldn't have lost any at the Auror centre. Plus," he rolled his head back on his shoulders, "they'll want to eliminate their own dissidents before really moving to take over."

"How long will that take?" Moody again.

His eyes were completely cold when he met Alastor's. "Days at best."

There was a moment of silence. "Doctor," Martha finally said, "do you have a plan?"

He grinned, the emotion only making it part way up. Of all the people in the room, he knew that only the Corsair and maybe Martha would be able to see that. "Of course!" Shoving himself off the wall, he made his way to the table. "Now. You can take down a Dalek by hitting its casing with something that would work on inanimate objects – the Reductor curse, for example – and then by hitting the beast inside with a curse that will work on living beings. Because their weapon will still be working, you should go in groups of three. I don't know if a Shield Charm will work, but if it doesn't, a Conjured piece of metal or stone should block their weapons. Albus – you'll want to divide up your Order as you see fit. Alastor – same. Incorporate Martha's team with yours. Tonks'll stay with me."

Tonks snorted. "That doesn't sound like a plan."

"Is too," the Doctor protested.

She raised a doubtful eyebrow. "Really? When, where, and how?"

"Don't know, don't know, and will figure it out when we get there." He grinned. "Any questions?"

Severus, in the middle of one of his trademark sneers, seized up, clenching his left arm. "He wants us." Panting, he held very still for a minute. "The Dark Lord has summoned us for a battle."

"Anything else?" the Doctor said quickly, nerves beginning to burn from tension.

Releasing his arm, Severus met the Doctor's eyes. "He wants me there. And it's a battle. So it's not against Muggles, a family, the Order, or the Ministry."

The Doctor sank, supporting himself against the table. "Goodie. UNIT and Death Eaters and Daleks, oh my."

* * *

Pain.

Pain.

More pain.

What else was new.

He had nothing to do other than contemplate the pain and watch his traitorous body heal itself. He found himself wishing for the days when they would just kill him because it would at least stop the pain for a moment.

He wanted to go insane. He couldn't.

He wasn't sure which was worse.

Today they had skinned him, delighted that he hadn't died in the middle. They'd cuffed him, hands apart, pulled upright. His entire weight rested on his wrists, the constant pressure keeping the skin there from healing. He'd died twice from blood loss, once from shock, too many times to count from asphyxiation, five times from lack of blood flow to his brain. Death was welcome. The men who called themselves Death Eaters were not.

He didn't know how many times he'd died. He didn't know how long it had been since the Doctor abandoned him again. He didn't know anything except the pain.

When they tortured him he screamed in languages they didn't know, just because. The few times he deigned to speak in English, it was to mock and insult everything he saw. Occasionally, he got up the energy to flirt with one of them. For a bunch of bastards who found such pleasure in fucking him every night, Death Eaters sure were homophobic pricks in groups. It made things worse, but it helped, because if he could flirt it meant they hadn't broken him.

Yet.

He'd thought he couldn't be broken. He'd thought, after everything else he'd been through, that his mind was the one thing that was _his_. He'd thought that because he was sane on Satellite 5, then he would be sane for the rest of his life. Everything else worked that way, why wouldn't his mind?

Now he was starting to doubt that.

Hanging in the cuffs, watching new skin grow, painfully, across his chest, Captain Jack Harkness wished, for the first time in his life, to be insane.

For a while, after the screams began, he ignored them. Some other poor sod getting tortured, probably. He searched for his empathy and could only find a sense of overwhelming relief that it wasn't him. There was something wrong about this, but he couldn't come up with the energy to care.

Then he heard the other screams, the angry-raging-hating screams, and for the first time in what he thought was months, he began to struggle.

"_EXERMINATE!"_

They were the only creatures who had a larger place in his nightmares than the Death Eaters because they were the only ones to kill him when he didn't think he'd come back. Of course, he'd also defeated them before, and he hadn't defeated the Death Eaters.

Yet.

That was a new thought, coupled to a new feeling: hope. He kind of liked it. Maybe it would stick around for a while.

With a groan, Jack got his feet under him. "Time to leave," he said, trying the words out. The last time he'd spoken, they'd cut out his tongue.

No one came in.

He was good, then. The chains had been reinforced after the first few times he'd broken out, but with enough effort, he was able to yank these ones out as well. The bolts in the wall were strong, but the bolt and nut fastening the cuff around each wrist weren't. One hard jerk on each arm and the head of the bolt popped off, letting the chain and cuff clatter against the wall.

Jack tensed at that, expecting someone to come running in, but the door to his cell didn't open. Good, then. Or very, very bad, he didn't know which yet. There were enough Daleks to keep the guards on his cell occupied. Whether that was a good thing or a bad thing was unclear.

Shaking his limbs, he waited for his body to adjust again. It took a minute – there were a lot of things that weren't happy with him – but once it was done, he felt as good as he was going to get.

The door was locked. Of course it was. The hinges were on the outside, and the stone door fit smoothly into the wall. Nothing for him to latch onto, nothing to pull, nothing to grab.

But Jack being Jack, that didn't mean anything. Backing up to the furthest edge of the cell, he took a running leap at the door and slammed into it. It shuddered. So did his shoulder. Gritting his teeth, he did it again. And again.

It took a few more tries – and one dislocated shoulder that he popped back in with a grimace – before the door gave up and burst open into the corridor. Jack followed, collapsing on top of it, panting.

He had to wait a minute for his body to begin its healing process before he could stand. Then it was another few seconds for everything to settle.

Looking up and down the corridor, Jack realized he had no clue which way he'd come in. Bugger that. He picked a direction and began running.

It was just like being with the Doctor again, except it wasn't. Just like being with his team, except they were dead. The curse of being immortal. The Doctor _wouldn't_ stay with him, and no one else _could_.

He was running down corridors again, and he could pretend there was someone beside him.

Then he ran into the first Death Eater.

He recognized the man on sight – bulky, blond, a broken nose – but didn't have a name to put with it. Fortunately, Jack came up on the man's back and got one good punch in to the kidneys before the other man was able to turn.

Then they were fighting, and nothing else mattered. The Death Eater didn't really have a chance to get his wand out before Jack planted a fist in his nose. Bleeding, the blond swiped at Jack's face with an open fist. Jack bent out of the way, hammering a punch into the other's rib cage.

Something cracked, and the Death Eater wheezed, backing away. Pulling out his wand, he raised it to cast a spell.

"Oh no you don't," Jack said, panting only slightly. One hand grabbed the wand, the other rammed, flat and open, into the other's throat.

The Death Eater crumpled, windpipe shattered.

Jack stood there a moment, and just breathed. The wand wouldn't work for him, he'd tried that once, and none of the Death Eaters carried guns. When he had his breathing under control, he checked the body – just for thoroughness – and came up with a razor bladed knife. Taking the robes as well – there was something just _wrong_ about being naked in a fight – he ran off down the corridor.

The fighting was mostly outside the castle he'd been imprisoned in, although an encounter with another Death Eater resulted in a puddle of blood and the Death Eater's head mysteriously losing all contact with his body. Jack had no plans to mention the incident to anyone else.

And then he was outside and the whole situation rapidly took a turn for the surreal.

Death Eaters. Check.

Daleks. Check – in grey and white varieties, even.

Dead bodies. Check.

Sheep? Apparently Wales. Still. Why did he always end up in Wales?

The Doctor?

Jack reviewed the past few days, and concluded that he was hallucinating from pain, starvation, and lack of sleep. Because there was no way that skinny, _impossible_ git could be standing in the middle of a battlefield, surrounded by Aurors, yelling at the Daleks, and generally looking far too pleased with himself.

"Look, metal mind, you want me, you come and get me! I _know_ you! You want what I've got, up here!" The Doctor tapped his head. "Get your casings over here and we can chat!"

Grinning in something that he knew looked much more like a grimace, Jack strode towards the Doctor.

As he got closer, the battle resolved itself into clumps of fighters – not all of which were wearing black Death Eater robes. Some were Aurors. Some were just wearing wizarding robes. There were also UNIT soldiers – _why?_ And, on that note, _how?_ – and some people who, if he remembered the gossip correctly, were probably members of the Order of the Phoenix.

And then, of course, there were the Daleks. His first impression hadn't strictly been accurate. The only white Dalek – dirty white and gold, really – was sitting off to the side and smoking. The dark grey Daleks, meanwhile, had formed a circle around the Aurors and were picking them off one by one.

And that was quite enough of that. With all of his customary subtlety, Jack shoved his way through the fight, planting elbows in any fighters he didn't recognize – and the knife in any ones he did. It was a horrible way to fight – he much preferred the clean efficiency of a gun, no matter what the Doctor said – but that didn't mean he was _bad _at it.

He was Captain Jack Harkness, and, if he cared to count, he was over five hundred years old. He could fight any damn way he wanted to.


	40. The Predator of the Daleks, IV

**Doctor Who, Special Series; Episode 8: The Predator of the Daleks**

**A/N: Have I mentioned recently that I love you all? The weapon described in this chapter is not mine, but is in fact the creation of BookkeeperThe, used here with permission. S/he is a wonderful author and you all should go check out his/her work!**

**No warnings. :D**

**Thanks to: Paul, Ptroxsora, Yuna Cifer, Twicked, FlyingLovegood123, SilverLiningofACloud, Wonderbee31, JoojooBrother, Ashlee Pond, LilyLunaPotter142, and DragonRose4.**

**Fun Fact: Jenna-Louise Coleman was grocery shopping when she got the call that she was the new companion.**

* * *

Blood covered his hand as he sliced open the face of a particularly nasty Death Eater. Straightening up, he planted a heel in the groin of one who thought to sneak up on him, all of his attention focused on the brown-clad one-eyed soldier in front of him. "Colonel Alastor Moody, sir! This is Captain Jack Harkness reporting for duty."

Moody blocked a curse and grinned viciously. "Excellent." His next curse took out three Death Eaters. "Got a gun?"

Jack threw a Death Eater over his shoulder, twisting to open the man's throat with his knife. "I'm a damn prisoner, sir. They're morons but they're not that stupid."

"Take this." Putting up a shield, Moody wrestled out a pistol and threw it to Jack. "Got ammo here somewhere."

The pistol felt _right_ in his hands as he clicked it into position. "Anything in it now?"

Moody pulled down the shield, almost immediately firing off a curse at a Dalek. "Two rounds. The rest – gimmie a mo'." He turned a Death Eater into dust and turned to face a second Dalek.

The first one hit him in the back, illuminating Moody's whole skeleton.

Swearing, Jack fired off a shot straight at the Dalek. It accomplished nothing and didn't even make him feel that much better.

Moody's body hit the ground, eyes rolling back in his head. Jack followed him down, evading the other Dalek's return shot. "Bloody hell, Moody. I thought you'd make it." He had to swallow once before he could reach into the greatcoat and pull out an ammo clip.

He'd _liked_ Moody. He hadn't worked for UNIT long, but he'd liked the other man, his gruff sense of humour, his dedication to the lives of his men.

And now the old soldier was dead. Eyes dark, Jack replaced the clip and stood again, pointing the pistol at the nearest Dalek.

"_Jack!_" someone screamed.

He hit the ground instantly, ignoring the splatter of mud and gunk around him. Two bolts of light – Dalek or wizard, he didn't know – shot over his head. Keeping down, he crawled backward, towards the voice. Judging it safe, he stood up – and found himself eye to eye with the end of a wand.

"Are you a Death Eater?"

Oh god. A kid. A _scared_ kid, wearing Auror robes and carrying a wand. Jack rolled his eyes. "Only a moron would say 'yes' to that question," he pointed out, slipping under the wand.

"You – you're –" Slightly overweight, blond, tall, looked about fifteen but had to be a few years older.

Sighing, Jack waited for whatever piece of intelligence the kid was going to come out with.

"American."

Jack blinked. "Yeah. And, by the way, on your side, so don't knock it." Raising the gun, he picked off a Death Eater.

The Auror swallowed, and cleared enough room for Jack to step through. It wasn't noticeably _calmer_ inside the circle of Aurors, but the tension was of a different sort. The Doctor stood in the dead centre, flanked by Martha and a pink haired girl he didn't know. The area around them , out to the circle, was empty, and noticeably less trampled than the area outside.

"Jack!" Martha ran towards him, arms wrapping around him in a hug.

He laughed, picking her up and spinning her around. "I like that greeting, Martha Jones."

"Stop it." The Doctor turned to look at them, mock-frowning. "Captain."

Jack saluted, hand snapping up to his forehead. "Doctor. Need some help?"

The Doctor grinned. "Good to have you back with us. Anything you've got, Jack."

Sighing, Jack lowered his gun. "Alright then. Where's our friendly Dark Lord?" He'd scanned the field but hadn't seen any sign of Voldemort, which – come to think of it – was weird.

"Priorities, Jack," the Doctor sighed. "Daleks first, then ah – ah – ah – Death Eaters. Who came up with these names?"

Jack shrugged, smiling. "I dunno. Until a few years ago, I thought it was a middle-aged Scottish woman. Now I'm not so sure."

The quip made the Doctor grin, and Jack revelled in that for a minute before coming back to business. "So. What's going on?"

"Daleks, Death Eaters, some Aurors, half of UNIT, the Order of the Phoenix, and me," the Doctor shot back. "Daleks come first. We've got renegades here, which doesn't mean anything. Not sure where the Imperials are, but they've got to be around somewhere. About ten of each came through, but there could be any number now."

Jack grinned. "Great. And who's _this_?" He nodded at the pink haired girl

She stepped towards him. "Nymphadora Tonks. Just Tonks, though. I'm an Auror and his companion." She jerked her head at the Doctor.

"Oh?" Jack raised an eyebrow, smirking. His attention was quickly caught, however, by movement on Tonks' other side. A Dalek, advancing on them. "Down!" The gun came up as he cocked it.

The Doctor placed a hand on the barrel of the gun. "No. They're not shooting at us. It won't work on them anyway."

Jack lowered the gun, vibrating with tension. "And what am I supposed to do? Sit and wait? Not something I'm good at, honestly."

"Just – hold." The Doctor held out his hand again, this time over Jack's shoulder, almost – but not quite – touching him. "They're up to something, and –"

There was an explosion of light. Jack and the two girls all hit the ground out of instinct, leaving the Doctor standing alone in the middle of the clearing "_DOCTOR._"

* * *

Tonks shuddered, face pressed into the mud. Daleks on a screen were one thing. A Dalek right in front of her was something entirely different, something terrifying, something that left her wanting to curl up into a ball and vomit. They should have been amusing, between the general appearance of pepper pots and the presence of a plunger, of all things, as an arm. They weren't. They were wrong and disgusting and terrifying, and their very presence left her scared.

Teeth clenched, Tonks checked for her wand, letting her fingers wrap around the polished hardwood. It gave her comfort, although why, she didn't know, given that it was effectively useless against their dilemma.

As per normal, Jack was the first one upright again, gun in one hand but lowered. It took another second for Tonks and Martha to pick themselves up off the ground, but nothing further happened until the three of them were standing. Jack moved slightly to stand between the Dalek and the Doctor, Tonks remaining where she was until she had more information. "Whaddya want?"

"Jack," the Doctor scolded, stepping around him. "Hello, Dalek. Here I am. You've got me. You'll have to negotiate for the information, though."

Trying not to let her fear win, Tonks looked around, noting positions as Moody had taught her to do.

Most of the Aurors were dead. Surrounding the four of them and a Dalek was a shimmering golden hemisphere that crackled against the air. Outside the hemisphere, the world seemed to have stopped. The humans were all frozen in various strange positions, and the Daleks had halted.

The Doctor sighed. "Ah. A side effect of fighting Time War Daleks – they have Time War tech."

Stepping back to the Doctor's side, Jack jerked his head at Tonks. "Get his back. Doctor," he continued in a louder voice, "what's that mean?"

Tonks nodded, moving back behind the Doctor, smiling at Martha as she took his other side.

"_YOU ARE IMPRISIONED. ONLY DALEKS CAN PASS,_" the Dalek inside the hemisphere announced.

The Doctor waved a hand. "Yes, well, technically we're stuck in a time loop. This little area is now functioning in a different part of time than the rest of the universe. When the Daleks release it, time'll snap back into place."

All of Tonks' knowledge about temporal physics came from _Doctor Who_, but she was pretty sure that wasn't good.

Jack tensed. "An explosion?"

"Yeah. A big one," the Doctor said quietly.

The area was silent briefly before Tonks could get her voice working again. "How big?"

"_HUMAN INTERACTION WILL CEASE!_" the Dalek shrieked.

The Doctor wasn't paying any attention. "Ah – the British Isles. I hope."

There was another moment of silence. The British Isles. Everyone that Tonks had ever met, her family and friends, the Order of the Phoenix, the workers at the Ministry, the population of Hogwarts… Not to mention millions of Muggles. It would be the greatest disaster in human history. Tonks struggled not to shudder.

"What do you want?" the Doctor asked into the silence, looking utterly bored.

The Dalek jerked its eyestalk up and down. "_WE WANT INFORMATION, DOCTOR._"

The Doctor rolled his eyes. "That's normal. What sort of information do you want?"

"_INFORMATION ABOUT THE TIME WAR._"

He jerked back, face visibly paling. "No."

Tonks swallowed, watching the interplay. She glanced at Martha, who remained motionless, and Jack, who was twitching, hands always in motion. Neither of them looked terrified by the presence of Daleks – they must have met them before. She was petrified, though, unable and unwilling to move. And this was a problem, because if the Doctor was right, there were three humans, a Time Lord, and a Dalek stuck in a time loop with no way out unless they were willing to blow up the United Kingdom.

Another Dalek rolled into the time loop, this one with a small black box gripped in its plunger. "_WE HAVE TIME WAR WEAPONS._"

"I'd noticed," the Doctor said dryly before his gaze dropped to the box the second Dalek was holding. "No." The word slipped out, almost unbidden. If he had been pale before that was _nothing_ to what he was now, bone white and shaking. "Not that."

The new Dalek advanced. "_DO YOU RECOGNIZE THIS, DOCTOR?_"

Freezing, the Doctor nodded slowly. "Yes," he whispered. "Of course."

"_EXPLAIN_," the first one commanded, "_EXPLAIN TO YOUR COMPANIONS HOW THEY WILL DI-E._"

Daleks, Tonks reflected with a hint of self-depreciating humour, had to be the only race in the universe who could stretch a monosyllabic word into three. The humour helped. She had to find humour in this, or else she would crack.

The Doctor closed his eyes, breathing out quietly. "It's a Paradox Bomb."

The Dalek jerked its eyestalk. "_EXPLAIN._"

"It's a Paradox Bomb," the Doctor repeated, louder. "You drop it on a planet and wait for someone to press the button. When they do, it sends out a – a – an electromagnetic pulse that kills everyone in the area, except for whoever picked up the box. Then – then it sends them back, about a minute, for them to do it again. And again, and again, until they don't press it. And – and – and that's a paradox, and that attracts the Reapers, and they wipe the planet clean."

"_EX-PLAIN_," the Dalek shrieked again.

Even from her position behind him, Tonks could tell that there was a muscle pulsing in the Doctor's jaw. "It's a weapon from the Time War. It's a weapon from the Time War that I invented."

Tonks felt like vomiting. The Paradox Bomb was one of the worst things she had ever heard described, worse than all the Unforgivables combined, worse even than the time loop destroying the British Isles, worse than anything she could ever have imagined, but the thing that capped it all off was the Doctor's flat admission that he had created it.

"What?" Jack took a step closer to the Doctor and almost grabbed him, putting his hands firmly down. "Doc, tell me –" He trailed off. "Why?"

The Doctor swallowed. "Because we had to. That's the only real reason, and there's nothing else that matters." He sighed, jamming hands in pockets. "So. You want information, and you're willing to destroy yourselves and everything else on this planet to make sure the Imperials don't get it."

"_YES. YOU WILL TELL US, DOCTOR, OR YOU WILL DI-E._"

There was a pause when the Doctor looked disturbingly like he was going to crack. "Yeah, well, there's not a lot of hope either way, is there. What do you want to know?"

Tonks turned toward Jack, tuning this out. She had the glimmers of an idea, but she had to check something. "You got a phone?" Daleks weren't stupid. The renegade Daleks were all here, which meant the Imperials were somewhere else – but they had to be monitoring communications. And if they were monitoring communications, she should be able to drop a few words and get them to show up. Daleks were evil little buggers, but they would turn on each other at the drop of a hat.

She'd only known Jack for about five minutes, but she already knew that she should savour the look of surprise on his face. "What?" he whispered, eyebrows shooting up.

"A mobile. You got one?" she asked again, making sure to keep her voice down.

Sighing, he shook his head. "You've been with him too long. Starting to sound like himself." The words lacked any sting – they almost sounded envious. "But not anymore. Martha – need your mobile."

Martha raised an eyebrow, but didn't question it. "Here. Got this one in this universe, so it'll work." She pulled a small black rectangle out of her pocket.

Tonks nodded her thanks, taking the mobile. Flipping it open, she began punching random numbers.

"_HUMAN ACTIVITY WILL CEASE. CEASE. CE-E-ASE!_" The Dalek closest to her jerked its eyestalk up and down, shrieking.

Tonks held the phone up in one hand, doing her best to look scared and unassuming. "S-sorry!" She didn't have to fake the stammer, it came out anyway. "I was just trying to help."

The Dalek stared at her. "_HELP? _HE-ELP?_ EXPLAIN. EX-PLA-AIN!_"

She shifted her weight, trying to imitate the prisoners she'd helped to interrogate. "You – I – I – I thought you wanted information on the Time War. I was just calling Sarah Jane Smith," good, name successfully dropped, that was the bait, now for the hook, "to see if she could land the TARDIS here so you can get the information you need." And now for some hysterics. "Please don't shoot me, I'm only trying to help!"

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Jack fail to contain a smile. Fortunately, Daleks weren't good at reading human emotion. There was a long pause as the Dalek considered this. "_GOOD. YOU WILL ACQUIRE THE TAR-DIS._"

She tried to not let her sigh of relief be _too_ blatant, and then reconsidered. Letting out an exaggerated sigh, she wiped away fake tears. "Thank you. Just please don't shoot me, I'm too young to die!"

Jack visibly cracked up. The Dalek ignored this as well. "_CALL HER. CALL. CA-ALL!_"

Hitting more random numbers, Tonks finally punched the call button, hoping against hope that she hadn't accidentally called some poor sod. Waiting a few seconds, she pretended it'd gone straight to answerphone. "Hey, Sarah Jane, it's me, Tonks. If you could move the TARDIS to where the Doctor is, that'd be great because – oh _god_ – we're surrounded by renegade Daleks and they want information the TARDIS has and they'll shoot us otherwise and _please_ come quickly because I don't wanna die! But – but – but keep an eye out 'cause there're other Daleks – Imperials, the Doctor called 'em, and _please_ don't get shot. Just – just hurry. Bye."

With a click, she hung up the phone and handed it back to Jack. Apparently satisfied, the Dalek turned away and joined its comrade in talking to the Doctor. "_WHERE IS THE EMPEROR_?"

Jack ignored them, looking down at her. "You're horrible at acting," he whispered, American accent noticeable on the second word.

"Don't need to be good," Tonks replied with a shaky smile. Bad acting or not, she was still terrified of the Daleks and was only standing still through brute force.

He met her eyes. "You'd better have a plan."

She bit her lip. "A bit of one. I – I'm not sure about the timey stuff." Tonks gave him a look. She _hoped_ that what she had in mind would work, but she wasn't entirely sure.

"Run it past me," Jack said instantly.

Tonks nodded and began talking quickly in a low undertone. Within two sentences Martha was paying close attention. Within five, Jack was nodding and beginning to smile again.

Within fifteen – her plan now being modified with Jack's assistance – the Doctor had heard her and had wandered over. "What are you doing?" he asked, voice aggressive.

"Being clever," Jack instantly responded, saving Tonks from putting her brain together after some very bizarre temporal physics. "I thought you were big on that."

The Doctor blinked. "Yes, but – but –"He waved a hand. "Daleks!"

Jack laughed bitterly. "Go play with the pepper pots, Doctor. We've got this worked out."

The Doctor opened and closed his mouth, and if Tonks knew him at all, he was probably about to say something horribly offensive, but the Daleks got there first. "_DOCTOR. TELL US WHERE THE CRUCIBLE IS._"

"Gone," the Doctor said, turning back to the Daleks. "Gone. I burnt it first, with Davros inside."

Tonks looked at Jack. "He's not alright, is he?"

Jack grimaced, pulling his gun out slowly. "No. He's not. Let's hope your idea works."


	41. The Predator of the Daleks, V

**Doctor Who, Special Series; Episode 8: The Predator of the Daleks**

**A/N: It's Tuesday morning and I just now realized that I haven't put the quotes on. Shitshitshit. Whee.**

**IMPORTANT THINGS:**

**I reply to every review. Yes, even yours. If you asked questions, I answered them. On that note, if you don't log in, I can't reply unless I know you. SilverLiningofACloud, I can't reply unless you turn on PMs.**

**On that note, 400****th**** reviewer gets a one shot. Twicked, **_**back off**_**.**

**Ethanland got a cameo for the arc words, it's in the last chapter. He's the Auror who talks to Jack. Sorry if you came off a bit dumb, I had to work it into the plot.**

**Unfortunately, I have to retcon something right now. I'm really really sorry, but I screwed up on Jack's clothing. (Yes, he's still wearing some. You can all back off now.) I've gone back and fixed the last chapter, but until he "grabs his gear", you can assume he's still in Death Eater robes. After that, he's in braces and great coat. (And a few other things, calm down.)**

**There was something else…**

**Thanks to: Paul, JoojooBrother, gibbsheroic27, Windarian, FlyingLovegood123, Ptroxora, Twicked, Yuna Cifer, and LilyLunaPotter142.**

**Fun Fact: The Doctor/Rory kiss in **_**Dinosaurs on a Spaceship**_** was improvised by Matt Smith. The look on Arthur Darvill's face is completely real.**

* * *

"_DOCTOR!_" A white and gold Dalek glided into the golden circle, eyestalk frantically moving up and down.

Tonks grinned fiercely. "Bingo."

"Don't get cocky, you two," Martha said, looking like she wanted to get her own gun.

Jack tried to look innocent. "Who, me?"

Tonks ignored them, watching the three Daleks and the Doctor. "The white one. We're going after the white one."

Jack nodded, instantly alert. "Ready."

"On my word." Tonks pulled her wand out. "And – _reducto!_" She knew how to cast silently, but this was part of their plan – throwing everyone off balance just long enough –

The shell of the white Dalek split open, revealing the squid-like creature inside.

The other Daleks turned on them. "_EXTERMINATE! EX-TER-MIN-ATE!_"

Jack raised his gun and fired once. Twice. The bullets smacked into the unarmoured Dalek.

Prepared, Tonks hit the ground first, Jack and Martha following soon after. Like an idiot, the Doctor remained standing, staring at them.

"Doctor! Get _down_!" Jack bolted upright, lunging at the Doctor and knocking him to the ground.

The Dalek exploded, then, spraying sheet metal everywhere. There was a pause.

The Doctor crawled over to Tonks. "What did you do?" he shouted, panicked.

Tonks clenched her teeth, looking at him. "Saved your bloody life! Now stay down!" Trying not to twitch too evidently, she shoved down on his shoulder, pinning him to the ground.

Which ended up being a very good thing, because that was when the second Dalek exploded and things went sideways very quickly.

The only Dalek remaining advanced on them. "_EXTERMINATE! EX-TER-MIN-ATE!_"

Crossing her fingers, Tonks began counting. "One one-thousand. Two one-thousand. Three one-"

The golden dome shattered out of existence. The grey Dalek blew up, with another flight of sheet metal. The world shuddered, the fight starting – continuing? – around them. The remaining Aurors attacked – continued attacking? – the Death Eaters, as the Death Eaters picked them off one by one.

And the Daleks exploded.

Tonks could have laughed. "It worked. It _worked!_" Groaning, she shoved herself off the ground, reaching down to help Martha up.

The Doctor frowned, shoving Jack off of him and standing up himself. "You didn't know it would?"

"Priorities, Doctor," Jack drawled, brushing himself off. "Ugh. Black – not my colour."

Martha ignored this. "Now what?"

The Doctor straightened his long coat. "Now, we get everyone out of here. We've done what we came here for, no need to lose any more."

"Moody," Jack said quietly, making Tonks' heart stop. Mad-eye Moody couldn't be dead. It wasn't possible. He was a force of nature, an everlasting presence, the rock that the world was built around.

Freezing momentarily, the Doctor paled. "Ah. Any of you got anyway to sound a retreat?"

Jack shrugged. "Yell until they get the idea?"

* * *

The saddest thing was that it was the best plan any of them could come up with. Jack managed to sneak back into the fortress and grab his gear, but other than that, they cleared out quickly. After the battle, they all deflated like balloons left alone too long. Martha, even though she'd done the least of any of them – not her fault, Jack reminded her pointedly several times, she was protecting the Doctor – looked like she could sleep for a week. Jack himself displayed nothing outwardly, but when he thought Tonks wasn't looking, something dark and tired welled up in his eyes. Tonks had long since given up on controlling her emotions and was focusing on not crying from relief and stress.

And then there was the Doctor. The Doctor, who, after getting everyone else out, stealing a wand, and helping her Apparate Jack and Martha to Grimmauld Place again, had collapsed into a chair by the kitchen table. The Doctor, who looked very much like he wanted to start sobbing but couldn't. The Doctor, who, from the bits of conversation she had heard, had relived some of the worst days of his life by confronting the Daleks, and now hadn't any idea what to do with the emotions.

It took a while for the rest of the Order – what remained – to filter back into the room. McGonagall took charge after a minute, looking around the kitchen. "Who did we lose?"

There was a moment of dead silence before Jack spoke up. "Alastor Moody. Someone should get in contact with UNIT –"

"Not now, Jack," Tonks said. "Now is for the dead. We can make plans later."

"Mark Mann," someone else said.

That broke the dam, name after name after name coming. Not all of the Order met here, only the Inner Circle, and Tonks wasn't that great with mental maths, but she knew they'd lost more than fifty people.

It was the Doctor, looking around the room, who put the last of it together. "Albus isn't here. Neither is Severus."

"Severus didn't go to the battle," McGonagall explained brusquely. "He's reporting to You-Know-Who right now."

The Doctor nodded, eyes dark and cold. "And Albus?"

The room was silent again. Tonks looked up at the Doctor. "I only saw him at the beginning of the battle. We were separated fairly quickly."

Around the room, people shook their heads, avoiding McGonagall's gaze. She sighed. "Mark the Headmaster as missing, presumed dead, then. Moving on – did anyone recognize any Death Eaters?"

There was more discussion – Lucius Malfoy had apparently survived, among others – but Tonks wasn't paying attention. She was watching the Doctor instead, worried about him and his inner fragility. He leaned against the wall, falsely casual, but exhaustion showing in the tense lines of his face.

"We need to get him out soon," Jack muttered.

Tonks nodded. "How?"

Jack shrugged. "Knock him out? But seriously, if you know a way to get him to do something he doesn't want to, please share."

"You travel with him too?" Tonks asked, curious.

Flinching slightly, Jack shook his head. "Used to. Not anymore. Point remaining, we need to go soon."

Someone knocked on the door. "Sirius, go get it," McGonagall said, not looking up from her papers.

Scowling – at the world in general, most likely, as he hadn't gotten to go to the battle – Sirius yanked the door open, revealing Snape. With Dumbledore's dead body in his arms.

Someone screamed. McGonagall stood up. "May god preserve us," she said quietly. "Severus – upstairs in the dining room, please. You're certain it's him?"

Snape nodded, looking more than normally pale. "Three Death Eaters as eyewitnesses to one of the Daleks shooting him. He's dead." Turning, he left the room again.

Jack seized the opportunity. "Doctor – Tonks needs a rest."

Tonks opened her mouth to protest, realized that the Doctor would leave only if staying would hurt someone else, and closed it again.

The Doctor looked at Jack and then at her. "Yeah. We're done here."

Jack nudged him. "Apologize."

"For what?" The Doctor looked at him, confused.

Tonks shook her head. "Professor McGonagall, I'm sorry, he's not good with people. We'll be back tomorrow to help sort things out."

The Doctor looked at her. "We will?"

McGonagall smiled wanly. "Anything you can do to help will be wonderful."

"If you're looking for someone to put in charge of UNIT, I recommend Martha," Jack said with a smile.

From the other side of the Doctor, Martha stuck her tongue out at him. "Incorrigible prat."

Jack grinned. "You still love me!"

"You're about to cure that," Martha snarked. "Go on, Doctor. We can deal with it now. Get Tonks back to the TARDIS."

Since the Doctor looked like he was going to protest, Tonks latched onto his arm and pulled him out of the room, Jack following. Once they cleared the Anti-Apparation wards, she Side-Alonged the other two into the Ministry.

There was a long silence after they got into the TARDIS as if no one was really sure what to do. It took the Doctor, opening his eyes and looking like hell, to break it. "Captain, your room should still be there. Tonks, a word."

From the Doctor, it was a very un-Doctor-esque speech. Jack shot him a worried look before disappearing into the TARDIS. Tonks clenched her teeth, trying to ignore the voices in her ears.

"_The Laws of Time are mine now! And they will obey me!"_

"_Come with me. You're my companion. Come with me."_

His hands on her shoulders, his presence in her mind, his face far too close to hers. Tonks shuddered, bracing herself against a support strut.

The Doctor, normally observant – ish – missed the cues. "Tonks – you said you didn't know it was going to work. Do you know what would have happened if it failed?"

She shook her head, it taking all of her strength to keep her knees steady.

"By that point, Western Europe! A hundred _million_ people, all because some _stupid_ human miscalculated! Don't you _ever_ do that again, you understand?" He was trembling too, she saw, but from anger, not fear.

Tonks swallowed, grabbing hold to every bit of stubbornness and anger she could. "And you had a better plan?" she shot back, trying to ignore that this was the _Doctor_ and pretend that it was another Auror. "If Jack and I hadn't killed that Dalek, they would have killed us all and then taken over the world. If you'd misstepped, they'd've used their Paradox Bomb and killed _everyone_. What else was I supposed to do?"

The Doctor jerked back, face set and determined. "Let me deal with it. That's what I _do_."

"I was saving your bloody life, you wanker," Tonks yelled, letting her anger for him overcome her fear _of_ him. "You could at least _pretend_ to be grateful."

He snarled. "My life is not worth a hundred million humans'. If you'd screwed up –"

Tonks struggled not to scream. "But I didn't. It worked. It worked _perfectly_."

"But how could you _know_?"

She ducked her head, wishing he wasn't standing right in front of her. "I didn't," she admitted quietly, "I just hoped it would. It made sense in my head, and I know the universe doesn't always make sense, but it did this time, and if it worked everyone would live, and if it didn't, at least all the Daleks would be dead."

He backed away finally, sighing. "They wouldn't have been," he whispered.

"What?"

The Doctor swallowed. "The time loop would have exploded out, not in. Anything inside would have lived." He sighed, taking off his coat, and striding over to the console. "Look. What were you thinking when you shot the Dalek?"

Tonks relaxed, still a bit nervous. "It – it's complicated."

He smiled darkly. "Give me a try."

"I – I thought – the Daleks put up the time loop. I thought if the Dalek that put it up was dead, then the loop would fall." She shuffled her feet. "I – I know that it was supposed to explode when it came down, but – but I knew that the loop had to be altered to let the Daleks in and out, so I thought – if the Dalek died, maybe the energy would go someplace else? And – and I thought it'd work best if both kinds of Daleks were in there. That's why I called."

The Doctor clenched his teeth, tendons standing out in his neck. "Right conclusion," he said finally, sounding strained, "wrong logic. You were _incredibly_ lucky."

She crossed her arms. "I'm not going anywhere until you explain that."

Relaxing slightly, infinitesimally, his lips twitched. "There's the Tonks I know. You were right, sort of – the only reason that gimmick worked was because the Daleks were hooked into the time loop. Instead of the energy exploding outwards, it was funnelled through the Daleks. There's more, but that's the simple bit."

"Of course it is," Tonks muttered. "So basically, I was right."

The Doctor opened his mouth, closed it, and opened it again. "Well – yes. No, but essentially, yes."

She smiled, shaking her head. "Typical. Try it again."

He smiled slightly. "What you have to understand is that a time loop takes a great deal of energy to set up. You need to use two kinds – physical energy to start it, and then temporal energy to keep it going. The physical energy's provided by the Daleks – it's, oh, about the amount used by a small city in a day. But once it's up, it starts running on temporal energy. That energy comes from the timelines of the people it's gonna kill when it comes down. You kill someone out of their assigned time, there's a lot of energy left over. The time loop runs on that. The longer you keep it up, the more energy it uses, the more people it has to kill when it comes down. Normally this means that the physical energy mixes with remaining temporal energy, and the whole lot turns into an explosion that can make craters the size of Belgium. Still following me?"

Tonks nodded. "And with the Daleks?"

The Doctor grinned. "That's where it gets complicated."

"Oh joy," Tonks said dryly.

Another blinding grin. "Yes, well… Right, so the Daleks linked themselves into the time loop. Here's the thing about the loop – it goes up and comes down in the same instant, real time. But when you called, you connected one point in time to a future one, you with me?"

"Not really," Tonks admitted.

He continued as if he hadn't heard her. "And that Imperial Dalek, it came from a future point in time _back_ to when we were. Which meant that in order to prevent a paradox, it had to still be alive when the time loop was taken down, so it could complete the circuit. By killing it, you created a paradox. If it was dead _inside_ the time loop, the only way to solve the paradox was make sure that the past Dalek was dead _outside_ as well. So the temporal energy that was _going_ to blow up Europe went into the Daleks instead. And because all Daleks are telepathically connected, it was able to rip along those lines as well. The energy burnt itself out destroying the Daleks. There aren't any more in this universe."

Tonks nodded, trying to deal with this. It made sense – in a sort of nonsensical way. "Are we good, then?"

"Ah – yes. Your room should be just down that corridor." The Doctor looked varying degrees of embarrassed and exhausted as he turned back to the console.

Tonks raised an eyebrow. "And you?"

Now he was definitely avoiding her gaze. "Time Lords don't need sleep."

She rolled her eyes. "Pull the other one, it's got bells on. Get some sleep, Doctor. You look like hell."

He wasn't happy with this, but as she wandered down the first corridor, she could see him putting the TARDIS on standby. "Fine, _mother_."

Tonks laughed, collapsing eagerly into her bed.

* * *

_Next time on Doctor Who – Episode 9: The History of Loss._

"_There's a fine line between precaution and paranoia, Severus, and you're dancing on it."_

…

"_I'm the Doctor. Barty, can you tell me your full name?"_

…

"_We're not going anywhere until you explain what's wrong. We've spent an unholy amount of time in the Vortex – literally – and you won't tell me why – Doctor, you hate spending any more than a day someplace, and we've spent at least three here. And the instant we talk about leaving, you freak out. What's going on?"_

…

"_Environmental checks?"_

"Why_?"_

"_Come on, Tonks. His version of an 'environmental check' is to open the doors and see if it's raining."_

"_It's not raining."_

…

"_I'm bored. I'm surrounded by boring, stupid humans. I've got two lives that I spend running a country and I'm still bored out of my mind. Have you ever noticed that, Doctor? How unbearably dull it gets if you don't have anyone to fight against?"_

"_Not recently. Mostly because somehow I always end up with someone to fight against."_

…

"_Right now he's either sobbing or jerking off, and either way, you probably don't want to walk in on it."_

"_What?"_

"_You didn't notice? You could have cut the sexual tension in there with a knife… A _small_ knife."_


	42. The History of Loss, I

**Doctor Who, Special Series; Episode 9: The History of Loss**

**A/N: Yay for procrastination! This episode isn't done yet, which freaked me out enough to forget I had a chapter to put up this morning. Whee!**

**Thanks to: Paul, Ptroxsora, Iamthe42, , FlyingLovegood123, WonderBee31, DragonRose4, LilyLunaPotter142, and Twicked.**

**Fun Fact: The 50****th**** anniversary is**_** NOT**_** going to be one 60-min episode. We don't know what it's going to be, but definitely more than that. PM me to get the source.**

* * *

"Come in."

Minerva stepped into the room as the wards came down, the lines on her face somehow even more prevalent now than they had been four hours before, the last time he saw her. "Would it _kill_ you to key me into the wards?"

He raised a sardonic eyebrow at her. "It might."

She shook her head, placing the tea kettle – her half of this traditional offering – on his desk. "There's a fine line between precaution and paranoia, Severus, and you're dancing on it."

"Someone could take you captive and force you to let them into my rooms," he drawled quietly, "you never know." From a hidden drawer in his desk, he pulled out a tray with cups, along with containers of cream and sugar.

Minerva sighed, beginning to pour herself tea. "Someday we'll need to move up to something stronger."

Severus chuckled darkly, sitting on top of a student desk. "Too late for me. I won't be having any today."

"Why?" She replaced the tea kettle on the tray, picking up her now-full cup.

He stood up restlessly, fidgeting briefly with a quill pen. "Tea will interact … _poorly_ with the contents of my veins."

Caught taking a sip, Minerva sputtered briefly. "What? Severus, what _now_?"

His twisted smile, he knew, bore no resemblance to anything normally deserving that title. Silent, he pulled the sleeves on his right arm up, revealing a cluster of long dark veins around the inside of his elbow.

"Oh, _Severus_," she sighed. "What have we done to you?"

He rolled his eyes. Stupid self-sacrificing Gryffindors, always so willing to believe the worst of themselves and the best of others. "Nothing that I wasn't already on my way to doing, I assure you."

She bit her bottom lip, lowering her cuppa. "Why? Why now? You weren't – before –" She stopped.

Severus smirked down at her, knowing that she was talking about the irredeemably awkward time when she walked in on him changing hurriedly for a meeting. The Dark Lord's summons had come late, and so he'd had to strip and change in his classroom, secure in the knowledge that there weren't any students willing to brave the bat of the dungeons to come in out-of-hours. "When the Headmaster passed," he said simply. "Since then, meetings have been more difficult to get through, being both longer and more intense, and classes have been… troublesome."

It was an understatement, they both knew that. With the death of Dumbledore, the ability of any teacher to keep control of an increasingly divided school vanished. The only one happy was Filch, who led detentions every night. And Umbridge, of course, but Severus tried not to think of her.

"What sort?"

He raised an eyebrow. "Minerva, are you thinking of experimenting?"

She promptly flushed. "No, no, I just – _Severus_."

He snorted in amusement. "That is my name, yes." Smirking at her, he gave in, as they both knew he was always going to. "A mixture popularly called 'speedball.' It's made from powdered heroin and cocaine, mixed with water and injected into the veins. It is rumoured to have all the benefits of both and the detractors of neither."

"And does it?"

His smirk that time was positively sadistic. "Why, Minerva, one would almost think you were _interested_. No, of course speedball isn't perfect. It's far more dangerous, for one, and is easier to misjudge intake. But it serves its purpose." Before she could ask, he continued, "It keeps me alert and aware, on edge and prepared for anything."

She looked up at him, a pitying look in her eyes. "What about when you come down?"

Severus hesitated momentarily before standing up from the desk and crossing the room. "Time for something stronger." In the cabinet behind his deck, kept behind wards keyed to him, was a rack of glass bottles, each one filled with golden or dark brown fluid. "A drink?"

Minerva smiled slightly, the look that meant she knew she wasn't getting any more out of him, and shook her head. "You keep spirits in your classroom? Tsk, tsk, Severus."

He let out a short laugh. "Don't do that, you sound like Her Royal Highness upstairs. And if anyone can get into that cabinet, you may as well give them an O on their Defence NEWT and send them out to fight the Dark Lord." He poured a shot and downed it, clicking the glass against the desk on the way down. "It's whisky."

"Scottish?" she asked, pouring another cup of tea and adding one sugar.

Placing a full bottle on the desk, Severus closed the cabinet, feeling the wards buzz against his skin. "I'm not stupid enough to have any other kind."

She sipped at the tea. "Tea is dangerous but whisky isn't?"

He drained another shot, ignoring her. "Speaking of dangerous, Mr Potter is going to get us all killed."

Minerva sighed. "Severus –"

"Don't patronize me," he snapped, trying – and failing – to hold his temper back. That was a side effect of the drugs, an increased temper, but there was no other way to survive. "I am in Potter's head on a nightly basis, and I can tell you – so is the Dark Lord."

She raised an eyebrow. "Was there a point to this, Severus, or were you just planning on telling me things I already knew?"

He spun and slammed a fist into the stone wall. Shaking it out, he stared in morbid fascination at the blood already welling from his knuckles. "Potter's … antics with his little group of friends are drawing attention. Her Royal Highness knows about them, she's just waiting for proof. The next time they have a meeting…" He didn't feel the need to spell it out.

"Is aggression one of the side-effects?" she asked dryly.

Severus ignored this. "Stop him. You're his Head of House. Get him and his _moronic_ little group to stop. This has to end now."

At that tone in his voice, Minerva set her cup down, giving him a worried look. "Why? What's changed?"

Striding back to his desk, he pulled open a drawer, grabbing a roll of bandages one handed. Still staring at the blood dripping from his fingers, he began to wrap the bandages around his hand, making a note to heal it properly before his classes the next morning. "Our darling Minister for Magic." He looked up at Minerva finally, letting her put it together for herself.

Her mouth worked quietly for a moment. "The new laws – training soldiers outside of Ministry influence. Oh my god," she whispered. "He'll arrest Harry."

"Formation and training of an illegal paramilitary organization," Severus said, nodding shortly. "Potter will spend the rest of his life in Azkaban if he gets caught."

She lowered her head, strain showing on her face. "Then it's our job to make sure he doesn't. Severus – what's going on with Thicknesse and –" She waved a hand.

He tied off the bandage using the edge of his desk, not looking at her. "I give my reports at –"

"_Severus_."

He stiffened at that, that tone of voice, the one that he had heard every single time the Marauders beat him up and complained to her about it. How awkward for him, to have to work with his former teachers. No one ever seemed to care about that.

She sighed behind him. "You don't need to _report_ to me. I'm asking about your _life_, Severus. That's what friends do."

Clenching his teeth, he rubbed the bandage, pressing down until red flared across it. "Yes," he agreed, not making a response to the assumption of friendship.

Minerva made a soft noise, her chair scraping against the floor as she stood. "I'm not Albus. I don't want to control your life. Anything you can tell us is more than enough. I'm _asking_ because I care. Talk about what you want to talk about. Naught more, naught less."

He pulled his hand away from the bandage slowly, resisting the urge to push down again, hating himself for relishing the flare of pain. "Thicknesse is integrating himself with the Dark Lord. He trusts no one more, to the annoyance of Lucius and Bellatrix."

"And you," Minerva said quietly.

He clenched his teeth hard enough for pain to spike through his jaw. "Yes." He had to talk, had to get it all out, the vile draught he kept bottled up because no one would hear. "He joined the day after the Dark Lord's return," he said quietly, giving up on the shot glass and just taking a long drain of the whisky. "The day after."

She stood behind him, not making a move to touch him, just standing there. "Is that fast?"

He held back the urge to punch the wall again. "Yes," he grit out, hand clenching around the bandage. "He'd known Lucius for years. Met him a few years after –" He could see her every time he closed his eyes, see the red hair splayed across his hands, see her green eyes open and staring. Drawing in a shuddering breath, he continued. "Between the wars, he was the perfect pureblood scion. Lucius brought him in the first meeting after His return. He was Marked that night."

She reached out a hand for his shoulder; he flinched away.

He took another drink, knowing he was walking a fine line. It didn't matter. It wouldn't be the first time he'd drunk himself catatonic, and it certainly wouldn't be the last. "The Dark Lord trusts his advice more than anyone else, even Lucius. Thicknesse is egging him on, sliding him closer to insanity than he's ever been. The Dark Lord's given him free reign – Potter will be found out, Thicknesse will come here, and Potter _will_ end up in Azkaban. Unless you can get him to stop."

Minerva stepped back at the vitriol in his voice. "Severus –"

He spun, black hair falling in front of his face. "Go." Crossing his arms, he looked down at her. "I swear I won't kill myself, accidentally or intentionally. Just go."

With one last look at him, Minerva nodded slowly, grabbing her tea kettle before leaving the room.

Groaning, Severus Snape grabbed the bottle of whisky and collapsed into the chair, determined to chase incontinence and absolution, at the bottom of a bottle or no.


	43. The History of Loss, II

**Doctor Who, Special Series; Episode 9: The History of Loss**

**A/N: And once again, it's Tuesday morning and I'm trying to get the AN done before class starts. Whoot.**

…

**Just realized that it is not, in fact, Tuesday morning, but is actually Wednesday. Someone shoot me now.**

**Notes for the good of the order: This is chapter 2 of episode 9 (I really bloody hope). Episode 10 has not yet been started. This is your warning that Episode 10 may be delayed by a week.**

**If anyone else is going to Emerald City Comic-con, feel free to message me so we can meet up or something. **

**My Tumblr is still linked at the top of my profile page. (I think. I haven't actually bothered to check…) Also, speedball does exist and does have the properties I attribute to it, and my research to find that out is going to get me arrested.**

**Thanks to: Ptroxsora, twicked, LilyLunaPotter142, FlyingLovegood123, Wonderbee31, JoojooBrother, and Paul.**

**Fun Fact of the Day: Not Who related, but **_**Misha Collins and Patrick Stewart are coming to ECCC and I'm so excited I'm gonna explode and die and if I don't update next Wednesday, that will be why.**_

* * *

"Doctor." Tonks chucked the tennis ball at him. "Look at me."

From somewhere underneath the console, head buried in the tangled remains of the flux capacitor, the Doctor grunted, grabbing the ball as it rolled by him and tossing it back out.

Tonks laughed. "Bizarre game of catch we've got going." Flipping the ball back under the console, she said, "Doctor, seriously. There's a door down on the left hand side of the third hall that won't open."

Connecting two sets of cables and swearing in Gallifreyan at length when they shot electric sparks across his fingers, the Doctor ignored this for a minute. "Um – 'kay?"

Kicking his shins – the only part still sticking out from underneath the console – Tonks cleared her throat. "It's a locked door. In the TARDIS. And you're not worried?"

He winced, tucking his legs in. "Nope." Right, cable E connected to cable 10, while cable 5 went to cable J.

"_Doctor._"

Holding three cables in place with one hand, he threw the ball at her and was rewarded by her gasp of fake shock.

"If you don't get out of there now, I'm calling Jack in."

Reconnecting cables rapidly, he crawled out from under the console. "That's hardly fair."

Rolling her eyes, Tonks crossed her arms over her chest. "I don't play fair. Now – Doctor, two problems. First, there's a locked door in the TARDIS. And second, we've been in the Vortex for two days and four nights now. Don't you think it's time for us to go back?"

His breath hitched. "Ah – locked door. Down here?" Dropping his spanner into a pocket, he strode off for a hallway.

"Yeah," Tonks said slowly. "And the second problem?"

He ignored this, rapping lightly on doors as he walked. The first two swung open at his touch. The third didn't. "Hey, darling, wha'cha hiding from me?" She couldn't hide anything from him, not really, no more than he could from her, but they both had ways to communicate to each other when they wanted isolation.

Running his fingers over the door, he clicked his tongue once, sharply. With a groan, the door unlatched, swinging inward. "There we go," he whispered. "So what's in here?"

"You don't know?" Tonks asked from the other side of the hallway.

The Doctor shrugged, stepping into the room. "Any TARDIS could easily hold London on the inside. There are a few rooms in here that even _I_ haven't seen." He paused and stroked the wall. "And she likes to shuffle them," he muttered fondly.

The TARDIS purred back, the temperature rising slightly. With a smile, the Doctor stepped fully into the room – and stopped in shock. "What?"

The room was small, ten feet on a side, and a plain white plaster on all four walls, as well as the floor and ceiling. The only thing in the room was a man, unconscious on the floor, wearing a tattered black-and-white prison uniform.

A man who was otherwise identical to the Doctor.

With gentle fingers, the Doctor reached out and touched the air above the body. "This – this room – no. Just this area of the room, right above him, it's a pocket of slow time."

Tonks stepped into the room, standing behind him. "_Merlin_. Who is this – is it Crouch?"

The Doctor knelt down, probing the pocket of slow time, poking at the edges, trying to get in. "Um – yes. I think."

The man was lying on his side, back to them, and the slow time wouldn't let him through. Tonks crouched down as well, frowning. "Doctor – first the locked door, now this. What's going on?"

With a short gasp, the Doctor pulled down the pocket of slow time. "There." He cracked his neck, letting a set of memories coalesce and settle in his mind. "I needed to hide myself," he said quietly. "I was hurt and needed to rest, so my TARDIS swapped us, swapped our bodies." He placed a hand on the man's shoulder and rolled him over. "Yes, this is Barty Crouch Jr."

Tonks muttered something he didn't quite catch and drew her wand. "Now what?"

The Doctor shrugged, looking at a face that could have been his, that _was_ his in a different universe. Same hair, same nose, same cheekbones. Same eyes, he suspected, though he couldn't tell. Same patterns of stress and exhaustion, and what _that_ said about him he didn't want to know. "We wake him up, see what happens."

"Do you have a problem with safety or something?" Tonks asked.

He ignored this, lightly touching Barty's shoulder again. "Barty – Barty, it's time to wake up. Come on, let's wake up now."

Barty's eyes snapped open and he tried to sit upright.

"No, no, no," the Doctor said. "Just lay still, you've been unconscious for a while. Look at me, Barty – now what's the last thing you remember?"

Jerking away, Barty tried to scrabble backwards. "Who're you?"

The Doctor frowned. "I'm the Doctor." He paused, "Barty, can you tell me your full name?"

His eyes, initially wide and blank, abruptly focused on the Doctor. "Bartemius Crouch _Jun_-ior, Roundwood Manor, Glastonbury, Somerset. M'Floo address is Roundwood Manor four-five-six, an' Daddy says to always let the Ministry 'fficials know when they come. Are you a Ministry 'ficcial?"

"He's like a _child_," Tonks burst out.

The Doctor nodded, standing back up and shoving his hands in his pockets. "To make the disguise work, I had to have his memories, so the TARDIS yanked them out for me." His eyebrows furrowed. "She doesn't appear to have been too gentle with it."

Tonks shook her head. "Bugger. So now what?"

Barty looked up at them, brown eyes large. "Whatcha talkin' 'bout?" He stuck a finger in his mouth and chewed on it for a minute, before pulling it back out again. "Wha's a bugger?"

The Doctor grinned. "Nothing you need to worry about, Barty. Now – Barty, look at me. How long have you been in here?"

Frowning, Barty counted on his fingers. "I – I – I talked to Daddy las' – last night. An' then I went to bed, an' then I woke up here." He blinked at the Doctor.

"Slow time, I told you," the Doctor said smugly. "It's only been a few hours for him."

Tonks crossed her arms. "Great, Doctor, now what are we gonna do with him?"

The Doctor ran a hand through his hair. "Ah – well – good question, Tonks, that's a really good question. Um – there – there – aren't there human places? For people who's – who's brains don't quite work –" He stopped, jerked a hand around. "Yeah."

She rolled her eyes. "Yeah, but I don't think they're quite prepared to deal with a psychopath with the mind of a five year old – particularly not one who's also a wizard."

He waved a hand at Barty. "Yes, yes, yes, but – but he's not a _psychopath_. He's – he's _three_, Tonks. He's not a threat."

Barty mumbled quietly to himself, one hand in his mouth.

"I can see that," Tonks muttered. "But don't think he's an innocent – he tortured the Longbottoms into insanity when he was nineteen."

The Doctor shook his head. "Nineteen. Not three."

Tonks gaped at him. "Doctor – he still _did_ it. He's still got the Mark on his arm, and you wanna – what? Turn him loose?"

He frowned and waved a hand wildly. "Yes – no – yes, but those – those – those human homes. He can go in one of those."

"How can you be a nine-hundred year old time traveller and _still_ not know they're called mental hospitals?" Tonks sighed, leaning against the wall.

The Doctor shrugged, jamming hands in his pockets. "TARDIS – replace that pocket of slow time around him." He felt the shift in front of him, the way that the air suddenly felt cold and stale, the pressure of Time against him, complaining because there was a part that was suddenly not going the right speed.

Tonks looked at him, hair suddenly going jet black. "So what are you going to do with him?"

"Hey-_lo_, Doctor, Tonks."

Turning, the Doctor raised an eyebrow. "Jack. Need something?"

Jack tucked his coat back, jamming hands in his pockets. "Well," he drawled, a cheeky grin on his face. "And _look_, there's two of you. Again." He waggled his eyebrows.

"No," the Doctor said flatly. "This is Barty Crouch Jr., who due to events _entirely_ beyond my control," he shot a glance at Tonks, who smiled, "currently has the mental age of a three year old."

Jack wrinkled his nose. "Ew."

Tonks grinned. "I'd think that a twin-threesome fantasy would be right up your alley, Jack."

"I do have _some_ squicks," Jack said, looking smug, "and paedophilia is one of them."

The Doctor smirked, leaning against the wall. "And that eleven year old on Carthix Nine?" he asked, naming an adventure they'd had when he'd still had short hair and a leather jacket.

Jack made a face. "That species lives to twenty. She was _perfectly_ mature – as I should know." He grinned.

"And the tentacles?" the Doctor shot back with a similar grin. That had been a _fun_ excursion, and one of the few that he _wanted_ to remember.

Tonks scrunched up her nose. "Ew."

Jack snorted. "You had to bring that up again, didn't you? I'd just started to build a new reputation –"

"No you hadn't," the Doctor retaliated. "You've got the same reputation you always had."

Pulling a face, Jack shrugged. "Anyway, what's child-Doc doing here?"

The Doctor sighed. "His name's Barty. And I don't know, that's what we're trying to figure out."

"Here's an idea," Tonks said, looking at the two of them. "What if we _talked_ to someone. Like Professor McGonagall."

The Doctor stared blankly at her. "_Why_?"

Jack laughed. "Because sometimes outside advice is helpful. And if I remember my bedtime stories right –"

"You didn't have bedtime stories," the Doctor muttered, annoyed.

"– Barty is important to more people than just us," Jack continued smoothly. "If nothing else, it'd be polite to let the Headmistress know that we've got her missing Death Eater."

Tonks gave the Doctor a look. "We should go."

The Doctor wrinkled his nose, feeling like he was on the losing side of an argument. "Fine. But fast, alright? We go, we ask the question, we leave, and we go find somewhere nice. Majorca. Or New Zealand – Tonks, have you ever been to New Zealand? Wonderful place, New Zealand, gotta love the Kiwis –"

"Doctor," Jack said slowly. "What don't you want to face?"

The Doctor strode out of the room, headed for the console room. "Off to Hogwarts, then! Quick stop off, get some answers, and then New Zealand!"

Jack and Tonks followed him quickly, Tonks closing the door on her way out. He ignored this, making his way down the hall as fast as he could without actually breaking into a run.

"Doc, what's up?" Jack caught up with him, grabbing his shoulder and spinning him around. "You're running from something, what's going on?"

He jerked away, flinching from the touch of a fixed point, not ready to deal with this as well. "Nothing." Turning, he strode off down the corridor again. Entering the console room, he snapped his fingers, bringing the lights up. "Darling, we're off to Hogwarts again. Land us sometime after our last trip, alright?"

Tonks blocked his path to the console, hair a brick red. "No. We're not going anywhere until you explain what's wrong. We've spent an unholy amount of time in the Vortex – literally – and you won't tell me why – Doctor, you _hate_ spending any more than a day someplace, and we've spent at least three here. And the instant we talk about leaving, you freak out. What's going on?"

"Nothing," the Doctor said again, stepping around her.

A flash of pain shot through his jaw and the world briefly went black. When he opened his eyes again, Tonks was standing over him, hair and eyes dark. "I said I trust you, Doctor. Trust goes both ways. Now what in Merlin's name is going on in your head?"

"Have I mentioned I like you?" Jack commented.

Tonks snarled. "Shut up, Jack. Doctor – I've had it up to _here_," she gestured at her neck, "with you keeping things to yourself. Hell, you've got a _Death Eater_ in your TARDIS!"

The Doctor made a face, rubbing his jaw. "To be fair, I didn't know he was here either. I mean, I thought – there were some memories – they weren't quite in place – but –"

Sighing, Tonks collapsed on the grating next to him. "Tell me _now_ what's going on, Doctor, or I swear the next time we land I am _gone_."

He sat up, cracking all the bones in his neck. "Those Daleks were from the Time War," he said abruptly, trying to explain something he'd never had to talk about before. "The Time War's behind a Time Lock."

"Designed by Time Lords –" Jack's mouth snapped shut and his face paled rapidly. "Oh _shit_."

Tonks shot him a glare. "Shut _up_, Jack. Doctor – keep talking."

He shifted on the grating. So many memories, so few of them he wanted anything to do with. "Nothing can get through a Time Lock. Nothing. Not the Daleks, not the Time Lords – nothing."

Jack nodded, face bone-white. "So how'd the Daleks get out?"

"And if they can get out," Tonks said slowly, hair fading to brown, "what else is in there? I don't know anything about a Time War."

The Doctor stood, heading over to the console again. "Nothing pleasant. And it's nothing you need to worry about. What probably happened was I just missed a few and they fell through universes just like you did, Jack." He was trying to convince himself, trying to ignore the horrible sinking feeling that he was wrong, trying to cling on to the last shreds of hope that he hadn't massively screwed this all up again.

He wasn't notably succeeding. With a groan, the Doctor threw a lever, sending the TARDIS whirling out of the Time Vortex and down towards Hogwarts.

They landed with a remarkably graceless thud, Jack swearing vehemently despite the Doctor's glares. Throwing the stabilizers on, the Doctor shoved off the console, grabbing his coat on the way to the door.

"Environmental checks?" Tonks asked, with an air of futility.

The Doctor spun, raising an eyebrow as he walked backwards. "_Why_?"

Jack laughed. "Come on, Tonks. His version of an 'environmental check' is to open the doors and see if it's raining."

Head most of the way out of the TARDIS, the Doctor frowned at what was in front of his nose. "It's not raining."

Jack laughed harder. "So where are we?"

"Earth. Britain. End of the 20th century." He stepped fully out of the TARDIS, poking the wall in front of him. "Someplace with a _lot_ of tartan."

Clapping a hand on his shoulder – the Doctor tried not to flinch away – Jack snorted. "Welcome to Scotland. And great parking job, Mr 'I've got a sports car.' It's a _wall_."

The Doctor grinned, beginning to walk around the TARDIS. "Yes, it's a wall. If I'm not very much mistaken, it's a wall in the Headmistress's office, am I right?" Rounding the corner, he beamed at Professor McGonagall.

She pursed her lips, frown deepening as Jack and Tonks followed him around. "Doctor, you should leave now."

One eyebrow shooting up, the Doctor jammed his hands in his pockets. "Why?"

"Because I am in the middle of a very delicate, very temperamental situation, and the last thing I need right now is outside assistance." McGonagall gave him a Look, one that had probably worked on generations of young witches and wizards.

It wasn't quite so successful on the Doctor, who grinned, stepping forward again. "What? I can help."

Tonks scoffed. "Doctor, you – we've never been good at delicate. Why don't we just –" She waved a hand.

McGonagall straightened, looking very pale and worried. "Doctor, if you are going to leave, I must ask you to do it _now_. We are running out of time."

_We._

_Time._

_Now._

The Doctor bit his tongue and reached jointly into Time and his memory, looking for one specific event. Threads flew past and pages flipped. He _knew_ where he was going, he just had to check – "The DA," he said, with a confident jerk of his head. "Tonight's a DA meeting and Dolores Umbridge is on the prowl."

Jack groaned. "Damnit."

"Right-o." The Doctor ran a hand through his hair. "We need to –"

The door to the office swung open, revealing a woman dressed all in pink with a face like a toad. "Minister –" She too cut off, staring at the Doctor.

Jack made a noise that indicated he was trying very hard not to burst out laughing. This was quickly followed by a muffled grunt – Tonks had probably stepped on his toes.

McGonagall cleared her throat. "Dolores, was there something you needed?"

Umbridge blinked, looking at the Doctor and then at McGonagall. "_Well_," she said disapprovingly. "Has the Minister arrived?"

The Doctor tried very hard not to smirk, failing spectacularly. "Nope! Not here. But that's not the important question. The important question is why are _you_ here?"

Smirking _much_ more prominently than the Doctor – not that he was annoyed about that or anything – Umbridge stepped into the room and out of the way, revealing Harry Potter. "I have uncovered an illegal paramilitary organization operating _right_ under our noses!"

"'Our'?" Jack whispered.

Tonks stomped on his foot again. "_Later_."

The Doctor ignored this. "Hello again, Harry. Sorry about –" He waved a hand. "It wasn't supposed to go like this, not really." He clamped his mouth shut on what was bursting to come out –

_It's my fault, if I hadn't come here Dumbledore would still be alive and Moody, and they would be helping the war, and I gave the Master everything he needed to take over Britain, which he's done, and it's all my bloody fault because if I'd gone somewhere – _anywhere_ – else, you would be holding your own in this war and not losing it horribly._

Harry looked pale and tense; swallowing, he nodded jerkily at the Doctor. "Yeah."

"Now look," Umbridge said shrilly, "where is the Minister? He was supposed to be here already."

McGonagall made a politely scathing face. "I suspect, Dolores, that – being the _Minister_ – he is a bit busy."

Umbridge looked briefly like she was going to explode, or start shrieking; then voices from the stairwell caught the Doctor's attention and he stepped forward. The room fell silent to listen.


	44. The History of Loss, III

**Doctor Who, Special Series; Episode 9: The History of Loss**

**A/N: For those of you who were wondering when the angst was going to show up again, here it is. (Not that anyone actually was, but ah well) Also, two MCs being absolutely adorable if you look closely. Also_ bloody hell comic-con is amazing and I still don't think my brain has showed up yet._**

**Thanks to: Windarian (who crossed 400 reviews), Ptroxsora, JoojooBrother, DoctorMini-Tesla, Paul, Twicked, DragonRose4, Wonderbee31, Ashlee Pond, LilyLunaPotter142, FlyingLovegood123, and Vulkan He'stan.**

**Fun Fact: _I cannot focus on this A/n because the sooner it gets done the sooner I get to dress up as Ten and you can't even imagine how exciting this is. _(Pics will be on my Tumblr)**

* * *

"Here's the problem, Avery – I don't have complete freedom. I know, that in your little brain, it seems like I do, but I don't. And I don't care what himself says, I cannot get you into that room without a great deal of fuss, and I think you've already expended your quota of fuss for the year."

"Thicknesse –" A second voice, impatient.

"You and your. Thick_. Skull._ We are in public, you _will_ show respect." The first again, annoyed.

"_Minister_."

"Better." Just a hint of a smirk in that voice now.

"He's running out of patience with your tricks."

"Then he should Summon me himself. Until that day, however, I shall continue on as I have been." With that, the first speaker stepped into the office and stopped, a small smile on his face. Tall, three inches taller than the Doctor, black hair, a neatly trimmed goatee. Robes. He was followed closely by another man in Auror robes, the door swinging shut behind them.

The Doctor moved towards him, not sure whether grinning was appropriate. "I was wondering when you'd turn up again."

There was a moment's pause – 1.24 seconds – from the other Time Lord before the Master turned to face him. "I wasn't looking," he whispered, astonished. "I was distracted, and I wasn't looking and I should have been. Hello, Doctor."

"Master. Here to stir up trouble?" the Doctor asked casually, sticking his hands in his pockets.

The Master smirked, pulling a wand. "No, actually. How typical of you to assume the worst of me. If you must know, I'm here to put it down." With a twist of his wand, the Master dropped the illusion, shrinking eight inches, hair shortening and lightening to brunet, beard vanishing altogether.

Two more Aurors stepped into the room – Shacklebolt and a man the Doctor didn't know. They stepped to the side with the first Auror, staying quiet and out of the way.

The Doctor quirked an eyebrow. "Why'd you change? You're short now."

Grinning, the Master returned his wand to his robes, which had shrunk as well. "I prefer to have our confrontations in my natural form."

"I'm sure there's a good reason for that."

The Master laughed, face open – or as open as it ever got. "Illusions itch. Besides, I'm getting fond of brown. And anyone who's important knows I'm an eccentric politician who spends half his time in a different guise, so no harm to me. _So_." He stepped forward, face closing again, smile twisting into a sneer. "The girly and the freak. Again. You know, this really is boring if you bring the same two all the time. And I don't like being bored."

The Doctor moved towards him as well, the two standing close enough that if one of them reached out, they would be touching. "Why are you here?"

"Because I've got a problem to deal with. Why are _you_ here?" The Master took a step sideways, looking up at the Doctor cockily.

The Doctor grinned, turning to face the other Time Lord. "Because I've got a problem to deal with."

The Master laughed, his steps marking out a circle. "Now, Doctor, I am rather busy. Explanations?"

"Why?"

For a second, the room was silent as they paced around each other. Finally Umbridge cleared her throat. "Hem. Minister – I do believe I have a student here for – _disciplinary_ action."

The Master spun, glaring at her. "Shut up." Turning back, he smirked at the Doctor. "See – busy. Now, nobody needs to die."

"That's never a good sentence," Jack quipped.

It was the Doctor's turn to spin and glare. "Jack." Looking steadily down at the Master, his face softened. "Master, why?"

The other Time Lord laughed darkly. "I'm bored. I'm surrounded by boring, stupid humans. I've got two lives that I spend running a country and I'm still bored out of my mind. Have you ever noticed that, Doctor? How unbearably _dull_ it gets if you don't have anyone to fight against?"

"Not recently," the Doctor shot back. "Mostly because somehow I always end up with someone to fight against. You?"

The Master shrugged. "Bored. Obviously. So here I am, looking for entertainment, and what do I find? _You_! It's like the best birthday present _ever_."

The Doctor smiled, beginning to pace again. "What are you up to?"

"I _told_ you, keeping myself busy."

Sighing, the Doctor grabbed the other Time Lord's shoulder. "You're trying to hurt Harry."

Shrugging again, the Master pulled away. "Course I am. I'm a Death Eater, didn't you hear that?"

Umbridge and one of the Aurors gasped.

The Doctor smiled. "Doing wonders for your cover, aren't you?"

"The cover doesn't matter. Because _you're_ here now, Doctor," the Master purred, grinning sadistically. "_You're_ here, and the rest of the world can toddle off to hell for all I care."

The two of them stared at each other, one pair of dark eyes boring into the other. "Then leave it," the Doctor whispered. "Leave it, and come with me."

There was a moment of silence, as if the room was holding its breath waiting for the Master's response. The Doctor knew he was. Smirking, the Master pulled away and stalked toward Harry. "Tempting, Doctor. But I have other plans. Mr Potter, are you aware of how much trouble you are in right now?"

Harry jerked his chin up defiantly. His eyes flicked over to McGonagall who shook her head subtly; he swallowed. "No." A pause. "Sir."

The Master smiled nastily. "Don't try to lie to me. Look me in the eye, Mr Potter, and tell me you don't know why you're here."

Again the room was silent as Harry shuffled his feet. Slowly making eye contact with the Master, he said, "I have no idea."

"_Liar_," the Master spat. His hand shot out and grabbed Harry's chin. "Mr Potter, you may not know who I am." He had to take a breath and visibly remind himself of his alias. "I am Pius Thicknesse, Minister for Magic –"

"You are not!" Harry yelled, pulling away. Shaking, he backed up until McGonagall put a careful hand on his shoulder. "You looked like Thicknesse when you came in, but – but no. You're an imposter."

Umbridge lunged forward. "Be quiet, you little _brat_. The Minister has his own reasons for being in disguise."

The Master rolled his eyes, turning back to the Doctor. "You see why I hate working with humans? So _tedious_."

The Doctor shoved forty-thousand conflicting emotions down, trying not to do anything stupid. "Yeah, explain that to me: how do you have the _time_ to be both – both – both, ah, Pius Thicknesse and Alexander Contantine?"

With the first open smile the Doctor had seen from him in _centuries_, the Master pulled a necklace out from under his robes. A thin gold chain with an hourglass hanging from it. "I've got this."

Raising an eyebrow, the Doctor leaned forward, peering at the hourglass. "That's a Time Turner. How did you get a Time Turner?"

"Well, when you're Minister for Magic," the Master drawled, grinning. "No. I snuck in and stole it when I figured out they existed. I go through each day twice, isn't that nifty?"

Almost involuntarily, the Doctor reached out a hand and stroked the Time Turner, not _quite_ touching the Master. "How's it work?"

Brown eyes flicking upwards, the Master twisted his lips slightly. "Take this," he poked the hourglass, "twist it once, either direction for each hour backwards. Don't screw it up, 'cause there's no way to go forwards."

"Thanks," the Doctor snapped. "But _how_?"

Snickering, the Master moved one hand – just enough for them to touch. The Doctor's entire world narrowed to that one pin-point of sensation, that one point where he was touching the other Time Lord, their skin brushing. The Master looked down at their hands, before his eyes returned to the Doctor's. "It's a very complicated mixture of a lot of interesting things, but the important bit is what's essentially dust from the Vortex. When you flip the hourglass, it connects your body now to your body an hour ago, and then drags you back to meet –" He hesitated, and abruptly switched languages. "_Yourself-in-the-past._"

The Doctor shuddered, the silvery vowels of Gallifreyan impacting his ear like nothing else ever could. And for it to come from Koschei –

"It's a targeted, limited manipulator," the Master continued in English, eyes bright and excited. "One hour segments, only to where you were at that point in time. You run quite the risk of seeing yourself, of course, there aren't any restrictions on this, but since I'm prepared – not a problem." He smiled, stepping closer to the Doctor, close enough that all he would have to do was reach out, and he could touch him, touch the other Time Lord. "And you know what?"

The Doctor tensed, mind pointing out that this could go one of a couple invariably unpleasant ways, body responding quite a bit more enthusiastically. "What?" Because right now, _right now_, it was Koschei and Theta Sigma, not the Master and the Doctor. It was two little boys, excited because they'd found out something new about the world, something they'd never known before. Just as it had been before.

Koschei grinned brightly. "The drums are only in my head the first time 'round. Every other day, they're gone. Silence, Doctor – my head is silent right now."

And there went the illusion. The Doctor blinked, shaking his head. "Alright then." They'd never talked about the bad things, when they were at the Academy. They'd never talked about how less advanced civilizations would have kindly described Koschei's childhood as chronic neglect, or Theta Sigma's as abusive amounts of pressure. They'd never talked about before the Academy. They'd only rarely talked about during. Their only topics of discussion had been each other and their escape plans, ways to get out, get away, leave everyone else behind and go see the universe. Theta Sigma's had worked. Koschei's hadn't.

The Master smiled, pulling away. "You can't hear them. No one can hear them. Still," he clapped his hands, looking pleased with himself, "I've got business here. Got to clean things up, make sure I can keep having silent days."

The Doctor dropped his hand, trying desperately to maintain eye contact and not do something _stupid_.

Which was why, in retrospect, it was a good thing that the door behind them burst open at that moment. Severus Snape ran into the room, wand already out. "_Now_, Minerva!"

He and the Master put the plan together in the same instant. The Doctor lunged for Harry, knocking him to the floor, and covering the boy's body with his own. The Master had his wand out and fired off a curse before the room exploded.

A streak of silver light flashed around the room – a Patronus, the Doctor saw, a lynx, so Shacklebolt's – there was a bang like a gunshot and the floor trembled. The Doctor kept his head down, protecting Harry. A second silver flash – another Patronus, this one a weasel – Arthur knew. That was good. Portraits yelled, and dust filled the air. Someone – several someones – fell to the ground, another person yelled, and glass broke.

Then the room was silent and the Doctor stood up again. Umbridge was unconscious, as were two of the Aurors. Tonks was rubbing one hand, but she and the professors otherwise seemed unharmed. And Jack had his revolver pointing at the Master.

"No!" The Doctor jerked forward. "Put the gun down, Jack."

Eyes cold, Jack shook his head. "Why should I? A lot of problems would be solved."

The Master chuckled. "I'll regenerate."

"You didn't last time," Jack snapped. "Why would this be any different?"

Smirking, the Master took a step forward. "Because things have changed. I wouldn't expect _your_ brain to be able to understand that, Freak. Don't you just watch the universe remain the same? Always living, never dying – it must be _awful_ for you."

"I'll do it," Jack said calmly. "You know I will. You've watched me."

The Doctor grabbed Harry's hand, choosing to focus on the people he _could_ save this time, rather than the two who were already lost. "Tonks, take Harry. Get in the TARDIS. I'll follow."

Tonks looked across the room at him, shaking her head. "Fine. Harry, come here."

With a doubtful glare at the Doctor, Harry did so, hand delving into his robes for his wand. "What's a TARDIS?"

"Not now," Tonks whispered. "Come on." They quickly rounded the corner of the TARDIS and were out of sight.

The Doctor turned his attention back to the warring pair. Jack had the barrel of his gun pressed into the Master's chest – not that the Time Lord noticeably had any problem with this. "Go on, Freak. Do it. Watch me die like you watched your team die. Or has it been so long for you that you've forgotten it? Remember how I killed them all in front of you? And you didn't need to mourn; they all came back!"

An expression of disgust on her face, McGonagall raised her wand. "_Stupefy._"

The Master fell bonelessly to the floor.

"Go," Severus said quietly. "They won't be out for long. Take Harry and get out of here. We'll clean up."

The Doctor raised an eyebrow doubtfully. "You trust me that much?" Somehow he didn't think the two leaders of the Order were going to just let him walk away with their Saviour.

"No –" McGonagall said, only to be cut off.

"I do," Severus said, to general surprise. "Go, Doctor. Take him, and don't come back. If you know as much about us as you pretend, you know what he has to do."

The Doctor nodded slowly, not bothering to hide his shock. "Thank you." Bending down, he straightened the Master's robes before continuing into the TARDIS.

Inside, Harry was still in shock. Ignoring him, the Doctor strode to the console and pulled levers, sending the TARDIS into the Time Vortex. They were safe. For now.


	45. The History of Loss, IV

**Doctor Who, Special Series; Episode 9: The History of Loss**

**A/N: Sorry about the delay on this one, I had a really stressful chem midterm this morning (yes, it is only two weeks till finals and we're still having midterms. I don't understand it either).**

**Comic-con: Was amazing. I'm still not caught up on homework/sleep/moneys but I wouldn't change a thing. Natalia Tena (actress for Tonks) was lovely and I have her autograph. She isn't a Whovian, so I couldn't ask her about this fic. Patrick Stewart said that David Tennant in _Hamlet_ "was wonderful… fabulous." At which point, I just about died. Misha Collins was insane, as per normal.**

**Episode 10: Is not yet written. At all. It won't be ready by Wednesday the 13****th****, which is the date originally intended to begin posting. I'm out of town the next Wednesday (NYC!) so posting will resume on Wednesday, March 27****th****. Let me clarify: Episode 9 will continue as per normal, only there won't be any quotes at the end. The quotes will go up when I have them ready. Episode 10 will begin posting on March 27****th****. I'm really sorry about this but between college and comic-con, I haven't had time to write for two weeks solid.**

**Thanks to: Wonderbee31, FlyingLovegood123, Maggie, Paul, Ptroxsora, and LilyLunaPotter142**

**Fun Fact: On the topic of other actors complimenting Doctors, Natalia Tena said Matt Smith is "a lovely man."**

* * *

The four of them stood in the console room for a minute. Jack looked between the Doctor and Tonks, not bothering with the boy. "Now what?"

The Doctor's eyes flicked around the console room. Tossing his coat over a support strut, he shifted from side to side. "Tonks, explain things to Harry. I – I – I've got to – I'll be in the back." Breathing hard, he strode off down a hallway, closing the door behind him.

Jack's eyebrows shot up. He and Tonks shared a glance. "Right-o, have fun explaining things to scar-boy."

Tonks gave him a scathing look. "Now hold on a minute. Who says I'm explaining things to Potter?"

"Because _he_ needs someone, and it's best if it's me." Jack smiled tightly, sticking hands in his pockets.

The Look continued. Jack wondered why the Doctor always picked bull-headed stubborn women, and then remembered that he _liked_ bull-headed stubborn women and probably shouldn't complain. "Why?" Tonks asked finally.

Jack grinned. "Right now he's either sobbing or jerking off, and either way, you probably don't want to walk in on it."

She blinked, stunned. "What?"

"You didn't notice?" Jack asked, eyebrows rising again. "You could have cut the sexual tension in there with a knife." He paused, thinking. "A _small _knife."

Tonks raised one eyebrow. "Elaborate."

Jack rolled his eyes, cocky grin returning. "Oh, he hates the Master, sure enough, but he's just messed up enough to love him as well. So – after one of their confrontations, he always comes away pretty screwed up. But, you know, he's the Doctor – we can't leave him alone." He shrugged. "So I'll go talk to him, and you'll deal with scar-boy."

She smiled, thinking about it. "Trade you."

"What?"

Grinning now, Tonks nodded. "I'll calm the Doctor down. You'll tell Potter what's going on."

Jack shook his head. "Run that by me one more time."

"I'm the companion. You're just along for the ride," Tonks said with a joking smile. "Besides, you're new to the wizarding world as well, so you'll be better at explaining things." With one last taunting grin, she strode off into the depths of the TARDIS.

Jack groaned. "Fuck." With a sigh, he collapsed into the pilot's chair. "Look, scar-boy."

The black-haired boy frowned. "My name's Harry. Harry Potter. I'm sure you've heard of me," he said sarcastically.

Shrugging, Jack leaned back in the chair. "I think I read your books once. It's been a while." It took him a moment to shuffle through his memories. "Harry – you've got questions."

Another look. "Duh."

"How old are you?"

Harry rolled his eyes. "Fifteen."

Jack groaned. "Don't worry, Harry. It gets better." He grinned, thinking about turning sixteen. "_So_ much better." Shaking his head, he sat upright. "Right, what sort of questions?"

"Where are we?" Harry said instantly.

He grinned. This question was easy. "The Doctor's TARDIS. T-A-R-D-I-S, Time And Relative Dimension In Space."

"Dimensions," Tonks corrected, poking her head back in.

Jack turned to look at her, frowning. "I thought you were going to deal with the Doctor."

She grinned. "I was. His door is locked. Thought I'd come sweet talk the TARDIS, see if I could get in."

Jack sighed. "Dimension. Singular. I know, he told me himself."

"Dimensions. Plural. I heard it on the telly," Tonks said saucily, walking over to the console. "You were saying?"

Telly? It took a minute for Jack to realize why that didn't make sense. "Wait – what? You saw the _Doctor_. On _telly_. How?"

Tonks smirked, running a hand down the TARDIS console. "You've read the Harry Potter books, right?"

"What?" Harry said.

Jack ignored him. "Yeah – oh." He wasn't stupid, though he liked to pretend to be. "It's a TV show over here. Different universes, different fiction. Right." He stood up in his most openly flirtatious manner. "So. Tell me, Tonks: Is my actor hot?"

It was Tonks' turn to blink and look shocked. "What?"

He grinned. "You heard me. Is. My actor. _Hot_? Because, you know, if he is," he waved a hand, "I should go say hi."

"No," Tonks said flatly. "Not happening."

Jack snorted, collapsing back into the pilot's chair. "_Aw,_ Tonks, can't I have a little fun?"

She laughed. "No. Jack Harkness, wandering America –"

"I'm not American!" Jack protested.

"– Wandering America," Tonks continued, "looking for his body double – that sounds like a recipe for disaster. So, no, you're not going to look for your actor. Besides, you haven't been on the show. It ended before you showed up."

Jack sighed. "Well, _shit._"

Tonks laughed again. "Who's a good girl then?" she said to the TARDIS, encouragingly. "Come on, open the door for me. I know he's yours, but he's hurting right now, and I can help him."

"Oi! No flirting with the TARDIS!" Jack mock-glared up at Tonks.

She raised an eyebrow. "Since when has that been a rule?"

Jack stuck his tongue out at her. "Well, go on, then. Is the door open?"

Tonks wrinkled her nose, but strode off for the hallway regardless. "Now explain things to Harry."

Jack stuck his tongue out again, even though he knew she couldn't see it anymore. Sighing, he turned back to Harry. "Ah – questions?"

Harry blinked. "What the hell is going on?"

Jack shrugged, leaning back in the chair. "You're in the TARDIS. It's a spaceship – travels in time as well. Bigger on the inside – I'm sure you got that."

The boy nodded, brushing hair out of his eyes. "Yeah. I've seen some tents like that. Who are you? And who's the guy who looks like Barty Crouch?"

"Captain Jack Harkness, formerly of a number of unimportant organizations, now a member of Team TARDIS. The other two members of which," Jack jerked his head at the door Tonks had exited through, "are Nymphadora Tonks and the Doctor, respectively. Tonks is like you, sort of – a witch, member of the Order of the Phoenix – but now she's the Doctor's companion. And the Doctor – where to start? He's a time-travelling alien who's one and only job in life is to save the world from anything and everything – which occasionally includes himself."

Harry gaped at him. "What?"

Jack grinned. "You're supposed to kill Mouldy-shorts and save wizarding Britain. Well, if you're damn lucky, you won't have to."

More staring. "What?"

"Got anything else to say, Potter?" Jack stood, brushing his coat off out of habit. "Look, I know it's odd, but really: the world's a hell of a lot bigger than you thought it was, and we're trying to save you from the really bizarre parts. That man back there," he waved at the doors out of the TARDIS, "the Minister for Magic – he's another alien. Like the Doctor, but they hate each other. Sort of. And he wants to destroy the world. So if I were you, I'd be doing anything I can to help the Doctor, because you don't have a lot of other options."

Tonks cleared her throat, showing up at the doorway again. "Explain things to him, Jack, not threaten him."

Jack raised an eyebrow at her. "You get in yet?"

"Whaddya think?" Tonks leaned against the doorframe. "No. I didn't. The door's unlocked, alright, but it won't open."

Jack groaned. "So now what? Just let him sulk again? At least last time he was sulking out where we could pester him."

"He's learning," Tonks commented dryly.

Laughing, Jack turned to the console again, running one hand down it. "What are we supposed to do, darling? What the hell are we supposed –" His wrist strap was beeping. His wrist strap _never _beeped, unless someone was trying to get in contact with him, and there wasn't anyone else who had them anymore, Grey was – gone, and John was a different sort of gone, and it was still beeping.

"What's that?" Tonks stepped towards him, frowning.

Jack shoved up the sleeve of his coat. "It's a vortex manipulator. As the Doctor so kindly puts it, it's like a bicycle compared to a sports car. Travels through time and space – well, in theory. Not so much since the Doctor disabled it – again. Anyway, someone's sending me a message."

Tonks looked at him with a worried expression. "Who?"

"Damn good question." Jack frowned at the wrist strap, trying vainly to decide whether to open it there and then, or wait for the Doctor. Impatience won out, and he flicked the cover off.

A blue light flickered on, forming the shape of a man – a disturbingly familiar man. "_Hello_, Freak."

"Master," Jack snarled, refusing to incline his head. It may have been four hundred years since the Year-That-Never-Was, but there were some things he couldn't forget.

The figure rolled his eyes. "It's a _recording_, dumb-ass. I got your answering machine because your little toy is broken. Get the Doctor to fix it sometime. Right now, you're going to take this to him so he can listen to the rest of the message." A pause. "Do it, Freak. More people will die if you don't, and I always thought that was one of the things you didn't like."

Jack snarled at his wrist strap, but took off at a run for the hallway regardless. "Tonks, stay with Harry. I'll get the Doc."

The door opened for him, which was nice. The man inside was dressed and composed, which was less nice on one level, although he supposed that from the universe's point of view, it was a good thing. "Jack?" Lying flat on his back, arms behind his head, and legs crossed, the Doctor looked at him.

Wordlessly, Jack presented the vortex manipulator, the image of the Master flickering in and out.

"Knowing him, he's stuck himself in the middle of that pile of rust he calls a TARDIS. You've got thirty more seconds to find him, Freak, before I start talking."

The Doctor blinked. "Oh, this won't be pretty." Sitting up, he looked at Jack and groaned. "Come in, sit down. You may as well hear it."

Unbuckling the wrist strap, Jack tossed it to the Time Lord, who caught it. Sitting on the floor, facing the Doctor, Jack raised an eyebrow. "You sound like shit."

"Thanks," the Doctor rasped, holding up the vortex manipulator. "We've got fifteen seconds. Anything else?"

Jack smiled tightly. "I'm here for you. Anything you need, Doctor, I'm here."

The Doctor gave him a dark look. "Don't talk until the message is over."

The image of the Master crossed his arms. "Twenty-seven seconds, but I'm bored. Doctor. You ran off on me. I'm offended. I really am, I thought we had a deeper connection than that, but apparently not. _And_ you took my new toy – Potter, in case you were confused. I don't care about the shape-shifter and the Freak. So. Here's the deal: You, and the Potter child, come back to Hogwarts now. Now, by the way, is April 12th, 1996, and it is," he paused, "eight pm. If you're not here by midnight – both of you, with or without anyone you want, I really don't care – then I will start killing people. One person for every minute you're late, so I'd suggest you be on time. Now for this next bit, you're gonna want Potter in the room, so go get him. You've got a minute."

Jack groaned. "I really, really hate working with deadlines."

The Doctor sighed. "Yeah." Standing up, he tugged on the lapels of his jacket. "Right. Let's go get Harry." He walked out of the room, straightening his shoulders.

With a groan, Jack followed. The TARDIS didn't conform to regular definitions of physics, but that didn't make it any less disconcerting when it took three minutes to get to the Doctor from the console room, but it only took five seconds to get back.

"Harry!" The Doctor grinned. "Perfect. Come here, look at this."

Harry crossed his arms and stayed where he was. "Why?"

The Doctor opened his mouth, closed it, and crossed the room to Harry. "Because the Master is probably about to make some rather obnoxious threats, and you should be there to hear them."

"That's charming," Tonks said. "Got any good news?"

The Doctor laughed. "We're not dead yet."

Harry glared up at the Doctor. "_That's_ good news? 'We're not dead yet'. Oh, that's brilliant. That's just _brilliant_."

The static-y blue form of the Master cleared his throat. "Potter. Cooperate with the Doctor, sanctimonious bastard that he is. I have your friends, and I _will_ kill them unless you come back."

"_Prove _it," Harry spat.

The Master laughed. "If your professors are correct, you're probably demanding proof right now. They're so adorable in their defence of you – any one of them could turn you into ground meat without even trying, and yet they're still insisting that you're the most important person in the world."

Harry snarled wordlessly.

"Humans," the Master sighed, "so predictable. So. You want your proof. Here you go. You've got four hours to get here before I start killing them."

His image flickered out only to be replaced by a short, sobbing girl wearing robes.

Jack nudged the Doctor. "Who's that?"

"Ginny Weasley," the Doctor whispered, still holding out the vortex manipulator. "Harry likes her. Hasn't quite worked it out yet."

The girl was replaced by a tall, gangly boy.

"Ron Weasley. Harry's best friend."

The boy was replaced by a girl with thick wavy hair.

"Hermione Granger. Harry's other best friend."

The girl vanished, but wasn't replaced by anyone. The vortex manipulator powered down, and the Doctor handed it back to Jack. "Well then."

Fastening the wrist strap back on, Jack shrugged. "At least he gave us four hours."

The Doctor nodded, turning to the console. "Small mercies." Pulling levers, he landed the TARDIS with her familiar _vroop-vroop_ noise. "Here we are. Hogwarts."

Tonks gave the Doctor a look Jack was thrilled not to be on the receiving end of. "When?"

The Doctor pulled a face. "The same day. Hopefully after eight, else the time-streams are going to get really bizarre."

Jack rolled his eyes, strolling to the doors. "Well, let's go see." Throwing the doors open, he stepped out into the room – and straight into a wand.

"_Avada Kedavra._"

With a groan, Jack collapsed, dead.


	46. The History of Loss, V

**Doctor Who, Special Series; Episode 9: The History of Loss**

**A/N: More notes at the bottom, sorry about sloppiness in the A/N this time, I'm writing it in the 5 minutes before I have to go do a bio thing. HIATUS does begin now; I will resume normal posting on Wednesday, March 27. I'm really sorry about this but there's no way around it.**

**Thanks to: Dark Dark Angel, Paul, DragonRose4, Me, Ptroxsora, Wonderbee31, and LilyLunaPotter142.**

* * *

Somewhere between Not Happy and Generally Pissed, the Doctor stepped over Jack's body and into the entry hall of Hogwarts, glaring at the Master the whole time. "You didn't have to do that."

The Master shrugged, lowering his wand. "No. But it was fun. And look – he gets better!"

Jack drew in a shuddering breath just as Harry was gingerly stepping over him, making the boy jump. "What the – you were _dead!_"

The Master ignored this, focusing on the Doctor. "Good. Oh, and the girly's here as well. We can make it a party!"

Scowling at the Master, Tonks stepped out of the TARDIS, giving Jack a hand up. "Yeah. We're all here. Now what?"

"Now we go find someplace private to have a chat." The Master smirked at the Doctor, brown eyes bright. "Don't wanna get interrupted midway through. Could have _unfortunate_ consequences for whoever interrupted us."

The Doctor raised an eyebrow, doubtful. "You've never cared about collateral damage."

The Master grinned, a dark light in his eyes. "I still don't. But surely you understand why I would want to have you all to myself." The last three words were _purred_ quietly.

Paling, the Doctor's eyes flicked to his TARDIS. The Master nodded slightly, smirking. The Doctor sighed. "Tonks. Jack. Come on. Harry, is there an empty classroom around here somewhere?"

Harry opened and closed his mouth once, and then frowned. "What is _going_ on? _You're_ the Minister," he yelled, pointing at the Master, "and you killed _him_," this to Jack, "but he's not dead, and somehow we got from the Headmaster – Headmistress's office to here _without walking!_"

The Doctor sighed. "Tonks, you were supposed to explain things to him."

"Jack did it," Tonks said with a grin.

Jack held up his hands innocently. "I did – I told him it was a spaceship."

Groaning, the Doctor shook his head. "_Jack_ – that wasn't explaining things, that was telling him a word and assuming he was intelligent. Harry," the Doctor spun and put a hand on the boy's shoulder. "I need you to just accept this: I own a spaceship. We flew – _well_, we transported in and out of the Time Vortex, which is something slightly different – _anyway_, we got from the Headmistress's office to here, and right now, I really, _really_ need to know where the nearest classroom is."

Harry made a very confused face, as if he wasn't sure whether or not he should be upset. With a groan, Tonks stepped in. "There's one just up the stairs. That is, if it hasn't changed too much since I've left."

The Doctor returned his attention to the Master. "Since you seem to have a plan, who do you want to come?"

The Master sighed, shaking his head. "You. It doesn't matter who else." Pausing, he rethought this last. "And Potter."

"I won't!" Harry snapped. "I'm not going anywhere with you!"

Nostrils flaring, the Master glared down at Harry. "You sound like a toddler. A nasty little ape who cannot comprehend the situation he finds himself in. Avery!"

A tall, broad-shouldered Auror stepped into the room from the Great Hall. "Minister," he ground out, the look in his eyes making it quite clear that he had no respect for the Master.

Smiling in the way that usually meant he was about to do something nasty, the Master turned to Avery. "Bring in one of the boys – any one will do."

The scowl on his face transforming into a dark smirk, Avery nodded and left the room. It didn't take him very long to return, holding an unconscious boy in a fire-fighter's carry. The boy was stocky, sandy haired, and pale, although the Doctor suspected the pasty skin colour was more the result of fear than anything else. "This one do?" Avery said, still smirking. "Or you want another?"

"Seamus!" Harry yelled, trying to bolt forward. Jack and Tonks each grabbed a shoulder, holding him back, but it was plainly a struggle.

The Master stepped forward. "You _will_ cooperate, Potter. I am sure you understand _why_."

Harry slumped, face paling. Lips tight, he nodded once. "Yes, Minister."

With an absolutely innocent look on his face, the Master returned his attention to the Doctor. "A private room. You, me, Potter – your humans, if you want – and my hostage. No one else."

"Sounds like a fun conversation," Jack snapped.

The Master smirked. "I could kill you again. Potter – a room. _Now._"

With a defiant glare, Harry turned and marched up the stairs, uncaring if anyone was following. The Doctor cast a glance at Jack and Tonks before catching up to Harry quickly. "Harry – you don't have to do anything you don't want to. I can keep –"

"Shut up!" Harry spun on the Doctor, midway up the stairs. "It's your fault, you know that? If you hadn't come here, if you hadn't done – done whatever it was you did – we weren't at war – we had _time_ and you _screwed _it all up!"

The Doctor clenched his teeth, a thousand words trying to come out. Tonks poked him. "He's wrong, you know."

He grunted, taking the stairs two at a time as Harry began to move again.

"About you," Tonks continued, keeping up easily. While they'd been on the TARDIS, he'd spent some time with her in the med bay fixing her shins – if he'd also had fun with her immune and cardiovascular systems, well, what she didn't know wouldn't hurt her. Quite literally in this case.

Turning left at the top of the stairs, the Doctor grunted again.

Tonks shoved him gently. "It's not your fault."

He didn't respond, instead turning into the classroom and perching himself on top of the teacher's desk. "Now what?"

Tonks looked at him and shrugged; Jack smirked. The Master strolled in, followed shortly by Avery and Seamus. Leaning against a wall, the Master nodded to Avery. "Leave us."

Avery looked very much as if he wanted to protest as he propped Seamus in a chair, but finally nodded his head and left the room, closing the door behind him.

"Master," the Doctor said quietly, standing up. "What are you up to?"

The Master grinned, pushing off the wall. "Oh, Doctor. The marvellous thing about this plan is that the only way for me to lose is for you to kill me."

The Doctor raised an eyebrow, watching the other Time Lord pace. "You have given away your weakness."

"Will you kill me?" the Master asked, sounding disturbingly fascinated.

Sighing, the Doctor turned away. "No."

He could _hear_ the Master's smirk. "Then I have nothing to worry about." Pausing, he rested one foot on a chair. "I don't want the Dark Lord to win."

Harry gasped; he was standing in a corner with Jack and Tonks. Seamus was on the other side of the room, behind the Master.

"No?" The Doctor turned back, eyebrow rising again. "You're one of the Death Eaters."

The Master shrugged. "So are you."

The Doctor rolled his eyes. "I joined while I was human. Doesn't count. But you're rather high up if I understand right."

"Perhaps. Doesn't matter." He stepped closer to the Doctor. "Because my only goal right now is to make you _hurt_, Doctor. I want to make you _pay_. And taking over this _stupid_ little country and _destroying_ its humans sounds like the perfect way to do that, don't you think?"

Sticking his hands in his pockets, the Doctor looked down at the other Time Lord. "Maybe. But how were you planning to do that? Kill Harry?"

Harry gasped again; again they both ignored him. The Master grinned. "Why? He serves a much greater purpose alive. Dead, that little group they call after some dumb bird –"

"The Order of the Phoenix," Tonks snapped, taking a half step forward.

"– Whatever." The Master waved a hand. "Without their _saviour_, they'll just give up. So," he smirked, "Mr Potter gets to live a little while longer. Of course, you know that means that the Dark Lord has to live as well."

The Doctor returned to sitting on the teacher's desk, shooting a glare at Tonks. As long as the Master was talking, let him keep talking. They might learn something useful. "You're playing them off each other."

The Master groaned, leaning nonchalantly against a desk. "Of _course_ I'm playing them off each other. Keep both sides weak, and when the time is right…" He trailed off, grinning.

"And you're telling me this why?" The Doctor swung one leg over the other, resting his chin in his hand.

The Master laughed, the expression lighting up his face. "Because anything you do will help me. Attack the Dark Lord? I increase the rumours about your little terrorist organization and support swings his way. Do nothing? I continue manipulating the war so that both sides are exhausted by the time I let someone win. Attack Potter? I twitch the Dark Lord over into insanity and let him self-destruct." He smirked, stepping closer to Potter. "Not that I'll do precisely that, but, you know – I'll win."

It took everything the Doctor had not to lose it. He knew the Master was right – the way it was set up, the other Time Lord would always win, no matter what happened. Drawing in a deep breath, he made steady eye contact with the Master. "What do you want?"

Laughing again, the Master moved, this time towards the Doctor. "What I've always wanted, Doctor dearest – _you_. Surrender to me _everything_ – your mind, your heart, your _body_ – and I might let this planet live. Maybe. It _is _an amusing plaything, after all."

The Doctor took in another deep breath, feeling the air rush into his tubes, diverting some to his respiratory bypass. "You don't have the power to do that."

"Not yet," the Master said cheerily.

Shuddering slightly and trying very hard not to show it, the Doctor swallowed. "Why shouldn't I keep fighting? I'll find a way to defeat you, I have before."

The Master drew his wand slowly. "Because I'll kill the boy if you don't surrender now."

"You're bluffing," the Doctor said with an air of false confidence. He had to be, the Master always bluffed first, waiting to move to deadly action until later.

The Master gave him a look. "Really?" Spinning to face Seamus, he raised his wand. "_Avada Kedavra!_"

The bolt of green light struck Seamus in the chest; eyes rolling up in his head, he collapsed on the floor.

"_No!_" Harry jerked free from Jack and bolted forward, drawing his own wand. "You – you – I'll _kill_ you!"

Rolling his eyes, the Master raised his wand again. "_Stupefy._"

Harry collapsed as well, in that peculiarly boneless way that indicated unconsciousness.

The Master turned back to the Doctor and smirked. "This regeneration _doesn't_ bluff." Twirling his wand, he stuck his other hand in his pocket.

The Doctor hissed a breath in, trying to ignore the twinge of pain in his hearts.

_One_.

"So," the Master said, a dark look in his eyes, "will you surrender, Doctor? Your girl is next."

Shuddering, the Doctor nodded. "Fine." His hand snuck into his jacket and pulled out the TARDIS key. "I suppose you want this too."

Before anything else could happen, the door burst open. "_Reducto!_" The spell flew, over the Doctor's shoulder, to slam into the Master's wand hand. Blood sprayed over the wall, as did fragments of his wand.

"_Timeline destroying homeless imprisoned son of an ape!_" the Master swore, jerking back his right arm, hand all but destroyed.

* * *

Jack spun, hand reaching for his revolver, to see a slender man step into the room.

"Overdramatic as always, aren't we Master?" Twirling his wand, the newcomer grinned.

Frowning, the Doctor turned. "What?"

The newcomer stepped forward again. Jack's hand _itched_ to pull his gun on the new man. "Hello. Long time, no see, Thete."

_Thete?_

Who the fuck was Thete? Breathing rapidly, Jack's eyes flicked around the room as he tried to figure out what was going on. The new man knew the Doctor and the Master. They both seemed surprised to see him there, but not like he was an unknown – rather that he was someone they both expected to stay away.

"_What?_" the Doctor said again, looking very confused.

With a sigh, the newcomer turned towards the Master, wand still out. "Get out of here, Doctor."

The switch from forced levity to command was abrupt enough for Jack to curl his fingers around his revolver. With a deep breath, he uncurled them, pulling his hand back out of his pocket. He stepped backward, keeping Tonks behind him, keeping himself between her and the three men currently staring at each other.

"_What._" The Doctor had a look on his face that normally meant he'd just found something completely befuddling and it would probably be a good idea to start running _now_.

Smirking, the newcomer maintained eye contact with the Master. "Oh, shut up, Doctor, I'm busy saving your ass."

Heaven help him, Jack _almost_ smiled.

Snarling, holding his bleeding arm across his chest, the Master pulled a gun out of his trousers. "I _own_ you. I _own _ _you_, you traitor! You can't –"

"Shut. Up,' the new man bit out. "I _will _blow your head off if you push me. Doctor – get _out_."

The Doctor, the moron, didn't move, mouth gaping. "No – wait – what is – I don't –"

In other circumstances, it would have been hilarious, seeing the Doctor completely at a loss for words. In other circumstances, the Doctor _wouldn't_ have been at a loss for words.

The new man straightened, keeping his wand pointed at the Master. "You shut up too. Human –"

Jack tensed, as did Tonks, behind him. That cleared one thing up – whoever the newcomer was, he wasn't human.

"You – the fixed point."

That cleared things up. Jack took a deep breath, wondering what he would have to do this time.

The newcomer's eyes flicked towards him. "Get him out. Go through that door and keep running until you hit something, you understand me?"

Jack nodded, stepping forward. He didn't know the newcomer, didn't trust him as far as he could through the other man, but anything had to be better than leaving the Doctor in the same room as the Master and a gun.

The Doctor shifted, blocking Jack's path. "No, no, _no _– Corsair – what is going _on_?"

_A name – and a name that's a noun. Another Time Lord?_

The other man – Time Lord? – tensed. "Human. Get him out. _Now_. However you need to."

Jack took another step towards the Doctor, ready to grab the Time Lord and carry him out of the room if need be.

Breathing heavily, face tight in pain, the Master pointed his gun at the new Time Lord – the Corsair, if he read things right – and cocked it single-handed. "I will _burn _you. I will kill you and take your body and _burn_ it. You will _not_ regenerate."

Jack wrapped an arm around the Doctor's chest, bracing himself. "Come on, Doctor."

Planting his feet, the Doctor refused to move. "I'm not leaving –"

Out of patience with the Time Lord, out of patience with the _world_, Jack groaned. He wasn't as tall as the Doctor, but he was heavier built, and it was easy to swing the Doctor up and over his shoulders. One arm just below the Doctor's ass – and he was _not_ going to follow that thought to its logical conclusion, not right now at least – the other around his upper arms, Jack shifted slightly, moving the unhappy Time Lord to a more comfortable fireman's carry. Looking up, he forced out a grin. "Don't worry, Corsair. We're off."

The Corsair nodded grimly, not bothering to turn and look.

On his back, the Doctor squirmed, trying to get down. "No, no, no, no, _no_ – Tonks. We have to –"

Ignoring him, Jack took a tighter hold and began running for the door. For the first two steps he had to strain, shoving against the floor, trying to balance a wriggly Time Lord on his shoulders –

And then they were through the door. Jack dropped the Doctor in shock, not entirely sure what to think. Because the instant he had stepped through the door of the classroom, he had also stepped through another door, this one already open – one that looked like it better belonged to a ship. Inside was a white, airy, hexagonal room with a round collection of panels in the centre.

"The TARDIS?" Jack asked blankly, looking around. But it looked different, why did it look different –?

Siting up, the Doctor shook his head. "Not mine. Corsair?" he asked, shoving off the ground and facing the doors again.

Jack gaped. Not his? What else was there, he knew enough about the Time War to know that there _weren't_ any other TARDISes, but there weren't supposed to be any other Time Lords either, and look how true that was.

Running in, the Corsair slammed the doors shut behind him before dashing to the console and pressing buttons. "Yes?"

"No, no, _no_ – we can't go! You're leaving Tonks behind!" The Doctor waved an arm, frantic. "And Harry," he added belatedly.

The Corsair ignored this, throwing a lever. "_And_ we're off."

Stepping up to the console, the Doctor grabbed the Corsair's shoulder, turning the other Time Lord to face him. "We're going back. Now. You can't leave Tonks there!"

The Corsair rolled his eyes, pulling away. "He won't kill her."

"How do you know?" Jack asked, stepping closer to the console. He didn't know what was going on, but he _knew_ the Doctor wouldn't be happy if he drew his gun now.

For a moment the Corsair ignored him, bending down and poking at something under his console instead. Then he stood back up again and faced the Doctor. "Theta Sigma, there is a chair against that wall." He pointed at a wooden chair leaning against a solid white wall with no doors in it. "Go sit in it. _Now_."

The Doctor opened his mouth, probably to protest, if Jack knew him at all.

"My TARDIS, my rules. Now _sit!_" The Corsair's glare was unyielding, and Jack was infinitely glad it wasn't directed at him.

Grumbling, the Doctor meandered over to the chair and sat, pouting.

Jack blinked. "Can I do that?"

The Corsair laughed, leaning on the console. "No. I'm older than he is, and he knows that._ Somewhere_," he snarled, grinning playfully at the Doctor.

"I don't care how old you are," the Doctor muttered.

Ignoring him, the Corsair turned back to Jack, keeping his voice to a low murmur. "I know the Master won't kill Tonks because if he does, _himself_ over there," he jerked his head at the Doctor, "will destroy him. I know it, the Master knows it, Tonks probably has an instinctive idea. The only one who doesn't know is the Doctor."

Jack shuddered. He knew, somewhere, on a bone-deep level, how utterly dangerous the Doctor could be if pushed, but each time he kept trying to deny it. "So why'd we have to leave?"

"Because death is not the Master's only tool," the Corsair said, speaking louder. "He'd have imprisoned you, and that wouldn't have been good for anybody."

The Doctor looked up slowly. "Last time we talked, you hated me."

The Corsair shrugged as he knelt down, digging under his console. "Things changed. The situation's different now, and preventing the Master's victory is more important than whatever petty ideas of revenge I might be contemplating."

Swallowing, the Doctor crossed one arm over his chest. "That's mature of you."

"Yeah, well, we can't all be adolescents forever," the Corsair said, head underneath the console.

The Doctor snorted, standing up gracelessly. "I've got a question."

"There's a surprise." The Corsair crawled out, dragging a mess of wires with him. "Fire away."

The Doctor leaned proprietorially against the console, staring down at the Corsair. "How can you fly this thing? I talked to the Master –"

"The Master lies." The Corsair poked at the mess of wires, separating out a long skinny rod. "Do you think Sizewell nuclear power station will care that I took half their fuel cores?"

"Not this time he didn't," the Doctor responded. "I _know_ him and he wasn't lying. He said he'd taken your thermo-couplings."

The Corsair grunted, connecting wires. "He did."

Jack blinked. "I know enough about TARDISes to say that we shouldn't be flying, then."

Grinning, the Corsair held up the rod. "That's what these are for."

The Doctor opened and closed his mouth several times. "You can't – you – you can't – you can't make _thermo-couplings_ out of a couple of _fuel cores_. I – I – look, Corsair, we're gonna crash – if –"

The Corsair laughed. "Not just fuel cores, Doctor, and I took about ten of them."

"_About_?" the Doctor sputtered.

Shrugging, the Corsair reached back under the console. "Also four rolls of duct tape, too many paper clips to count, and an ant farm."

The Doctor blinked as Jack tried very hard not to laugh. "That – that might actually work."

Jack cracked up, losing the battle, as the Doctor joined the Corsair under the console, muttering about ant colonies and the 'correct' brand of duct tape.

* * *

**A/N: For those of you who have been paying attention, I had to retcon some things back in chapter 18. It used to say something else, but to save you all time, here's the edited section:**

"As have you," the Master replied sharply. "Don't think I don't know what happened. The Corsair told me. He's been_ very_ good at telling me things."

It was the Doctor's turn to take a step back. That _hurt_. The last possible betrayal from his last possible friend: to turn him over to the Master. It made sense, it made perfect sense, it explained how the Master knew everything, except… "Why would he? Why would he cooperate with _you_? Unless… no. His TARDIS?"

The Master smiled and nodded, silent for once.

"You're extracting information from him, and in return –"

"I won't hunt down that boat he likes to call a TARDIS," the Master said. "Not that I need it, anymore, but it's a nice lever to have."

The Doctor sighed, leaning against the wall. "Why are you here, Master? What do you want from here?" He'd guessed it, he could see the answer coming, he just hoped, oh dear gods he hoped so much that he was wrong.

The Master roared in laughter. "Haven't you guessed it yet? Your TARDIS. The last Type 40 TARDIS in existence, thanks to you."

Familiar agony swept through him, but he fought it down long enough to force out a painfully polite smile. "You're welcome." He paused. "What about the Corsair's?"

The Master grimaced. "A Type 70, useless. I prefer the classic models." Which, in Master-speak, meant he cared more about hurting the Doctor than getting away.

"So it's all a lie, then. You wouldn't really steal his TARDIS." The smile was not entirely feigned this time. It wasn't _nice_, but it was a real smile.

Shrugging, the Master said, "I would if I had to. But I see no need to share that with _him_, especially since I removed some of his thermo-couplings. If I can't fly it, neither can he."

* * *

_Next time on Doctor Who - Episode 10: The Perfect Guards_

_"We're just gonna – what? Get ourselves thrown into prison? Do you have any way to get out?"_

_"Oh, and your plans are any better? Smash through universes looking for a place to hide? Yeah, that plan had loads going for it!"_

_…_

_"Sounds like the kind of plans we used in Torchwood, and those – well, they didn't go well, precisely, but it all worked out."_

_…_

_"You're scared of him. But he wouldn't – not us. He likes us."_

_"Hold on to that confidence."_

_…_

_"You know, you've got a really posh accent now. It's a shame that you still talk like you're out of the gutters."_

_"Not all of us want to be upper class twits."_

_…_

_"_Expectopatronum_!"_

_…_

_"So they'll be ahead of us, won't they? Since they know it better?"_

_"If you wanted to trail behind them, that was an option too."_


	47. The Perfect Guards, I

**Doctor Who, Special Series; Episode 10: The Perfect Guards**

**A/N: I'M BACK! It's a good thing I took those weeks off – finals went well, and NYC was lovely – hopefully this weekend I'll have pics up on Tumblr. Episode 10 is completely written, episode 11 is started, but I still have a week off of school, so I should finish it before April.**

**Note on Series 7: I am aware that the show returns on the 30****th****, and that one of the episodes is titled **_**Journey to the Centre of the TARDIS**_**. Whatever we discover in those remaining 8 episodes, I will NOT include spoilers, either in the A/Ns or in the text. I will not be able to alter the plot to fit discoveries made in the next 8 weeks; any resemblance is entirely coincidental.**

**Thanks to: Uryuu-Nipaa, Paul, Mango Supreme, Mahersal, Twicked, Iamthe42, FlyingLovegood123, Ptroxsora, PersonBehindScreen, Habato, AshleePond, LilyLunaPotter142, Wonderbee31, and Dark Dark Angel. Special thanks to my IRL friends Paul, Wilson, and Rachel, who all helped me with a part of this chapter.**

**Fun Fact of the Day: As yet, the only **_**confirmed**_** information on the 50****th**** is that it will include both Smith and Coleman. Anything else is just rumour at this point.**

**On an unrelated note, I just realized how ironic it is that I post this chapter while SCOTUS is debating their current case. Ah well.**

* * *

"That's not a plan!"

The Corsair rolled his eyes. "Is too."

"Is not! We're just gonna – what? Get ourselves thrown into prison? Do you have any way to get out?" the Doctor shouted.

Jack leaned against the wall, watching the scene with interest. The two Time Lords were standing about six inches apart, face to face, yelling at each other.

"Oh, and your plans are any better?" the Corsair mocked. "Smash through universes looking for a place to hide? Yeah, that plan had loads going for it!"

The Doctor poked the Corsair in the chest. "Hey, at least I _had_ a plan. Yours seems to consist only of getting drunk, getting thrown into jail, and making stuff up from there!"

The Corsair scoffed. "Was that the plan that resulted in you spending thirteen years stuck in a watch? 'Cause darling, I don't really want to go through that."

"And you spent twelve years in prison, I think we're even," the Doctor shot back.

Jack stepped forward slightly, raising his hands. "Look, I'm not sure what the plan even _is_, so if –"

"Shut up!" the Time Lords yelled in unison before returning their attention to each other.

Jack rolled his eyes before leaning against the wall again. He wasn't upset – he'd spent too much time around the Doctor for that – and it was amusing to watch the two of them go at it. He just wanted to make sure they were actually making progress, rather than just butting heads.

The Corsair crossed his arms. "We're not gonna spend twelve years in gaol."

"How do you know?" The Doctor still sounded aggressive, but he had calmed considerably.

The Corsair made a noise that indicated he was trying really hard not to growl. "Because we have skills now that we didn't then. You're not human, and I still have my TARDIS."

Scowling, the Doctor took a step forward. "Why are you doing this? After –" He stopped, looking away.

Tension draining out of his shoulders, the Corsair reached out, placing a hand on the Doctor's cheek. "Because if I were in your position, I would be _honoured_ to make the same choices you did."

The Doctor tried to turn away, hands in his pockets, but the Corsair put up his other hand and held his head still. "I didn't – no. I _killed _them, don't you – I thought you _understood_!"

"I do," the Corsair murmured.

Jack shifted, slowly realizing how intensely private this conversation had turned, and for once wishing to get out of the room before the situation degraded any further.

The Corsair smiled gently. "I understand that you had no other choice. Commit genocide but save the universe. I don't know what I would have done, but I wish I could say the same."

"No, no, no, no," the Doctor said, voice trailing off as he tried to pull away, hands clenching around the Corsair's wrists.

Following him, the Corsair kept his hands on the Doctor's face. "This regeneration fits the textbook definition for maniac-depressive and I'm not gonna let you run yourself into the ground over something you couldn't change. You _do_ matter and you _did_ make the right choice, whether or not you believe it."

Jack looked down, sighing. He had only the faintest idea of what the Doctor had been through, but it was still enough to make him pity the Time Lord.

Still smiling, the Corsair pulled the Doctor's head down and kissed him, slow and gentle. For a second the Doctor froze, grasp tight on the Corsair's wrists, and then he relaxed, melting into the kiss, hands moving down to the Corsair's waist. The Corsair's arms, in turn, wrapped around the Doctor's neck, pulling the other Time Lord closer. Watching, Jack could see a brief struggle for control that the Corsair won. Forcing the Doctor backwards onto the console, the Corsair wound his hands in the Doctor's hair, moaning quietly. It didn't take long for the Doctor to moan back, hands slipping under the Corsair's robes and up his sides.

If this wasn't sex fully clothed, Jack wasn't sure what was. He watched as they snogged the living daylights out of each other; a part of his mind – the very small part that hadn't already short-circuited – wondering how they managed to avoid hitting any of the TARDIS controls. Jack remained motionless, torn between the pleasure from watching a pair of gorgeous men go at it and the discomfort of being the only one in the room not getting some. Finally he cleared his throat.

The Doctor ducked out from under the Corsair's arms, hastily straightening his jacket. The Corsair just looked smug. "I'm – sorry, we shouldn't –" the Doctor stammered, running a hand through his hair where the Corsair had mussed it.

The Corsair laughed. "I don't think the human's problem is that we kissed, Doctor."

"Captain Jack Harkness," Jack said, holding his hand out.

Smirking, the Corsair avoided the hand entirely, headed straight for Jack's lips. This kiss was much shorter, and much more chaste, to Jack's disappointment, just a quick brush of lips and then the Time Lord backed away. "That's quite enough of that, I think," he said, grinning broadly. "Doctor, we good to go?"

The Doctor made a short strangled noise. "Ah – yeah. Yes, very much good to go. In fact, going sounds like rather a good idea right now – ooh, that was clever: good going, going good, good to go, got to go – no, no, no, that's another word, true though, got to go – go to got? No, not quite. Got to go to go –"

"If you keep babbling on, I'll have to kiss you again just to shut you up," the Corsair said dryly.

Dramatically, the Doctor shut his mouth. Frowning, he cocked his head. "No, but wait – we're going now?"

The Corsair snickered. "To get drunk, Doctor. Although, by the sounds of it, you're most of the way there yourself."

Jack cleared his throat. "Yes, right – what are we doing?"

Leaning on the console, the Corsair flipped a switch casually. "It's simple – simpler than _he _wants to pretend it is. Look: Harry's in Azkaban, and we've gotta get him out. The war's in enough trouble without losing the only person the humans think can save them. In order to get Harry _out _of Azkaban, we've got to get _in_. But we don't really want anyone looking too closely at us, because the Doctor and I are wanted criminals. With me?"

Jack nodded sceptically. "And getting drunk'll stop it?"

"No," the Doctor muttered, leaning against a wall.

The Corsair rolled his eyes. "Yes. Sort of. If the Doc and I wear disguises, get drunk and begin throwing spells around, we'll get picked up for Statute of Secrecy nonsense, thrown in low-security for a day or so and then let out. Once in –" He shrugged eloquently.

"We break out, get your godson, and get the hell out of Dodge before anyone finds out." Jack smiled. "Sounds like a plan."

The Doctor grumbled. "No, it doesn't."

Jack turned to face him. "Sounds like the kind of plans we used in Torchwood, and those – well, they didn't go _well_, precisely, but it all worked out."


	48. The Perfect Guards, II

**Doctor Who, Special Series; Episode 10: The Perfect Guards**

**A/N: a;sdklfjasldkjflkdj There are now 5 actors confirmed for the 50****th**** and I can't deal because I'm very very excited. (PM me for details). Oh, and there's an episode tonight. No biggie.**

**Thanks to: Paul, Cherry Hall, PersonBehindScreen, Kudo Shinichi Tanteisan, Ptroxsora, DragonRose4, LilyLunaPotter142, Wonderbee31, Uryuu-Nipaa, and FlyingLovegood123.**

**Fun Fact of the Day: **_**Scream of the Shalka **_**was an animated web-series released in 2003, originally intended to reboot Doctor Who. It features Richard E. Grant as the Ninth Doctor, who is now the only actor to play both the Doctor and a villain.**

* * *

Throwing a switch, the Corsair snorted. "I'm sure it did. Sometime after our fourth or fifth beer, you'll have to explain how you're a fixed point."

"Not now?" Jack asked sardonically. "And don't I – you know –"

The Corsair rolled his eyes. "Yeah, you feel odd. Doesn't mean anything, though." He frowned, eyes flicking between the Doctor and Jack quickly. "_Oh_. He – Thete, you little prat, it's an _annoyance_. Didn't they teach you –"

Jack watched the Corsair's mind catch up with his mouth.

Paling, the Time Lord turned toward the Doctor and inclined his head slightly. "Ah. My apologies, Doctor," the Corsair said politely.

Jamming his hands in his pockets, the Doctor faced away, head down. "Yeah."

Jack frowned. "Someone care to explain? I feel like I'm missing a few things."

"No," the Doctor said abruptly. "Corsair, land us near a pub, if you're so enamoured with this plan. Do you have a bedroom on this one? I need sleep."

Something Jack couldn't quite read flashed over the Corsair's face before it was shut down again. "Yeah." He flipped a switch on the console. "Down the corridor, it should be on the left. I'll let you know when we land."

The Doctor nodded and strode off, coat flapping behind him. Jack watched in some confusion. After the door out of the console room closed, he turned to the Corsair. "Now?"

Eyes focused on the door, the Corsair sighed. "What?"

Jack tried to smile. "The two of you were being more than normally obtuse – you don't mind me being – _me_, but he does, and then you _apologized_." In his – fairly extensive – experience, Time Lords did not apologize. Ever.

"You want an explanation," the Corsair said, looking exhausted and very old.

Swallowing, Jack nodded. "Yeah. If you could."

The Corsair grunted and didn't respond for a minute. Finally he looked up from his TARDIS console. "Has the Doctor ever terrified you? Has he ever left you feeling like it would be safer to run and hide someplace else – _any _place else – than remain with him, because he's more dangerous than whatever you're currently facing?"

Jack nodded. "Yes," he said, thinking of the Doctor facing down an army of Daleks, of the obscure and poorly written UNIT records, of him single-handedly rewiring a rocket so it worked, of him absorbing the psychic power of humanity, of the other him – but that power was still in the original Doctor – destroying the Daleks again, of more and more and more records from Torchwood, from UNIT, from organizations all over the Earth: This man is dangerous. Do not interfere.

"Good." The Corsair took a deep breath. "Alright, but don't tell him. No matter what he does, you _cannot_ let him know that you know."

Raising a sceptical eyebrow, Jack nodded slowly, waiting for the Corsair to get to the important bit.

The Corsair sighed. "The Doctor ran away from Gallifrey too many times to count, but it was the second and the third that are important. The first time he was eight –"

"The Time Vortex," Jack interrupted.

The Corsair's eyebrows shot up. "Oh, he told you that? He's getting better then. The second time was at the Academy. He was – how would you put it? Running with the wrong crowd. Almost all of them became renegades, at one point or another. He wasn't the smartest, or the most popular, or the best at anything. He was the worst in his class, because he didn't care. From everything I've heard, it was one of the worst periods in his life. Gallifreyan society is designed around one very specific type of personality, and he doesn't fit it. Never did, never will. He was friends with this group, but the only one he really fit with was Koschei – he took the name 'the Master' afterwards."

"Oh," Jack said quietly. "That long?" It explained a lot about them, but there was still something he was missing. Something important.

Nodding, the Corsair sat down beside the console. "Yeah. The two of them were inseparable. Koschei was the only reason Theta Sigma – that's the name the Doctor used, there –passed anything, and Theta Sigma was the only reason Koschei didn't get in more trouble than he already did. They had all these plans to get out – well, the Doctor wanted out. The Master wanted to destroy things, but he thought they should leave first."

Jack cocked his head, sitting beside the Time Lord. "How do you know this?"

"Getting there," the Corsair said, swallowing. "They had all these plans, but only the Doctor's worked. He stole a TARDIS and ran – sure, there was more to it, but nothing else matters. Even that young – barely 90 – he could fly them on his own, no test, no experience – it's supposed to take six adult Time Lords, and this little skinny adolescent flew one perfectly – the High Council didn't know what to do.

"That's where I come in," he said with a slight smile. "Renegade Time Lords, mostly, serve – _served_ – a role in Gallifreyan society. Yeah, we were all rule-breaking morons, had given up our names for a moniker that usually indicated we were pretentious arseholes, but we were important. Because we could do the jobs no one else would. Like bring home adolescent gits."

Jack looked up sharply. "_You_? You brought him back?"

The Corsair laughed bitterly. "You stupid? _No_. I found him, and I told him to keep on running, and if he needed any assistance, I'd be glad to help. And then you know what that self-sacrificing prat did? He said no. He turned me down, flew his stolen TARDIS back to Gallifrey, and returned to the Academy."

"_Why_?" Jack burst out.

Snorting, the Corsair rested his head on the console. "Because he said he had to protect Koschei. Can you see that? This little wisp of a boy, informing me that it was his job to take care of another boy, the same age but so much more popular, smarter, more _powerful_ – we thought. So he went back. And I don't think the Master ever forgave him – for leaving on his own, or for coming back."

Jack swallowed. It sounded so very _Doctor_, and so very heart-breaking.

"So that was the second time. After that he settled down, or appeared to. Passed his exams – not outstanding, but above average. Got a job, made his mark. Moved up in the ranks, astonishingly quickly. Which was when, of course, he decided to demonstrate his moral fibre and backbone. Or something. He did get some things changed, but the High Council finally got him for violation of the non-interference policy. So he stole that same TARDIS again and left. Took his granddaughter with him. Didn't come back. The High Council got a very scathing, very polite letter the next day, and he signed it 'Doctor'."

The Corsair shrugged. "So that was his life. In and out of the Academy, never outstanding, never remarkable except for his stubbornness."

"That hasn't changed," Jack quipped.

Snorting, the Corsair looked at him. "But there are tricks, tricks for dealing with fixed points and other odd things. Like you," he said without rancour. "And he wouldn't have learned those, because they're taught in the advanced classes, for the ones whose jobs are going to involve other cultures."

With a sigh, Jack stood up. "Okay. So that's why he has so many problems with me." It hurt less, now that he knew _why_. "But why'd you apologize?"

"There are – ways," the Corsair said hesitantly, "to measure how strong a Time Lord is, how much control they have over time and causality. The Doctor took the tests once. His results were inconclusive. Which either means he was so weak that he didn't register, or –"

Jack shook his head to the first, and then his eyes widened as the second sunk in. "You mean –"

"Be glad the Doctor has his rules," the Corsair told him, standing up. "Be very, very glad. The last time he lost them, Gallifrey was destroyed, trapped behind a Time Lock along with the rest of the War."

Shuddering, Jack leant against the console. "You're scared of him. But he wouldn't – not us. He _likes_ us."

The Corsair just gave him a long, pitying look. "Hold on to that confidence."

* * *

They landed a few hours later, the Doctor stumbling into the console room the instant he heard the change in engines. He shouldn't have needed sleep, it had only been – he counted on his fingers. Whatever, but not enough that he should have been exhausted. Really, he'd mostly left to allow the Corsair to explain things. And – this time, when he slept, he focused. He'd brushed against the link, and his other self had welcomed him in. They hadn't bothered to talk, the other Doctor just providing a safe place, comfort, warmth. No judgement, just peace. It had been a restful three hours, with the Doctor sleeping in the head of his other self, as _he_ slept curled around Rose.

Restful, yes, but not relaxing. The sleep – the quiet, dreamless, _memory-less_ sleep – had reminded him only of everything he had lost and would never get back again – _RoseroseroseDonnaSusanGallif reyKoscheiFamilyFriendsHOME_.

Shrugging his coat on, he looked at the Corsair. "Disguise?"

"Working on it," the Corsair sighed, pulling two flasks out of his jet black trench coat. "Polyjuice potion, modified to last four hours. This one," he waved one of them, "is a drug addict in London that I've been using as a disguise for years. The other's for you."

The Doctor gave him a look. "Who?"

Shrugging, the Corsair handed him a vial. "An actor."

"How'd you get his hair?" Working with the Corsair was like working with an adolescent tiger – the Time Lord had a moral compass, but it didn't always apply to humans, and the Doctor wasn't entirely sure what he would do if it turned out the actor was lying in a gutter somewhere.

The Corsair rolled his eyes. "In a studio. Acted like a fan, wasn't hard. Picked it up a couple weeks ago when I figured I could use a few new disguises."

Shoulders slumping in relief, the Doctor cocked his head. "How do you know the drug addict won't suddenly turn up here?"

"Since when were you pedantic?" the Corsair accused. "Oh, right, I forgot: you've always been over-controlling, and this is not your plan."

The Doctor tensed. "There's no need to be nasty about it." He _hadn't_ realized he was being pedantic until the Corsair pointed it out; it was just that he knew about Azkaban and he wanted Harry out. It took him a minute to remember that the Corsair had actually spent time in there, and must've wanted Harry out even more.

The Corsair relaxed. "The drug addict won't turn up here because here is not a place that interests him. He's a pedantic bastard – worse than you, actually – and never leaves London if he can help it."

"So where are we?" the Doctor responded, satisfied – enough – with the Corsair's plans.

The Corsair grinned brightly. "Take a look out and see."

_Not good_.

There was a reason – several reasons – why he liked the Corsair and one of them was that he was an irredeemable prankster. With a sigh, the Doctor stepped out onto the deck of the Corsair's TARDIS, the others following. Rolling his eyes as he recognized the location, he made a face at the Corsair, who laughed.

"_Mercyside_?" Jack said condemningly. "Why not Cardiff?"

The Doctor held back several offensive opinions on Cardiff and let the Corsair answer.

"Liverpool offers a number of advantages," the other Time Lord, scratching absently at his beard.

An unhelpful part of the Doctor's mind reminded him of exactly how that beard had felt against his face. Shoving it back down – he didn't have _time_ for emotional issues – he smirked at the Corsair. "You know, for someone who spends so very much time professing to be species-neutral, you seem to like sailors a bit _too_ much."

"Pot," the Corsair shot back, closing the door to the console room. "Unlike Cardiff," he told Jack, "Liverpool has a rowdy reputation, and three more drunk men won't cause any fuss. There are more pubs, ask for less ID, and are less likely to remember you the next morning."

The Doctor blinked. "How do you know that? I thought you preferred other planets."

Laughing, the Corsair peered over the deck of his TARDIS, which was currently shaped like a small pirate vessel. "I do. But since I've been stuck on this one for thirty-two years, I figured out where the _good_ places are."

Frowning, the Doctor cocked his head. "For twelve of those, you were in jail, and for the first thirteen, you were underage. So you had seven years, and for most of those, you were at war. When did you have _time_ to go exploring?"

"What makes you think I waited until I was eighteen?" the Corsair shot back.

"Rebellious," Jack said dryly – the Doctor knew that the first time Jack had drunk himself into unconsciousness he had been all of fifteen – "but do you think we could move past the anecdotes and on to the actual drinking part of the evening?"

Rolling his eyes, the Corsair downed his bottle. "Urgh. Not the worst I've had, but it's never pleasant."

The Doctor chose to look away for the actual transformation – regeneration was one of his _least_ pleasant physical memories, and this sounded far too close for comfort. When the noises from behind him stopped, the Doctor downed his own vial.


	49. The Perfect Guards, III

**Doctor Who, Special Series; Episode 10: The Perfect Guards**

**A/N: The episode was **_**lovely**_**, I'm totally looking forward to the next one and asld;fjakfjlsdkjf and THEY'RE COMING BACK I STILL CAN'T DEAL WITH IT *sigh***

**Anyway, in the A/N for the next chapter, I'll post the names of who they turned into.**

**Thanks to: Paul, Wonderbee31, DragonRose4, Ptroxsora, Ashlee Pond, FlyingLovegood123, and LilyLunaPotter142.**

**Fun Fact of the Day: _I CAN'T ANYTHING I PUT WILL BE 50th SPOILERS AND AS;DLFKJASLDKJFLKDAJ_**

* * *

It was discomforting more than painful, which was nice, but still not an experience he wanted to repeat. He shrank, hair lengthening and changing colour, nose growing – _again_, drat it – body becoming more bulky, limbs more coordinated.

And then – first words in a new body, first words in a new body, what to say, what to say? "Hello?"

_That was a failure_.

The Corsair chuckled, his voice sounding like it had dropped an octave. It was also considerably higher up. "Well played. Are we good?"

No. "I want a mirror," the Doctor said, struggling to get his limbs coordinated again. It was funny: this shape felt almost _familiar_.

Laughing again, the Corsair pointed over the edge. "Lights, water. Look yourself."

Ignoring him, the Doctor leaned over the railing, looking into the water where the lamplight hit it. Staring at the heartbreakingly familiar face, he fought to keep from swearing. "I turned into _myself_."

"What?" The Corsair moved over to him, swiping newly-short black hair out of his eyes. "No – one of your earlier regenerations?"

He couldn't stop looking at his face. "Yeah. The one who ended the War."

The Corsair grunted. "Ah. What were the odds of that, eh?"

Shoving the memories to the back of his mind, he spun and grinned at the Corsair. "You know, you've got a really posh accent now. It's a shame that you still talk like you're out of the gutters."

"Not all of us want to be upper class twits," the Corsair snarked gently.

"Oi!" the Doctor retorted, the grin becoming more real. "This one's not upper class. Neither's my actual body."

The Corsair raised an eyebrow, smirking. "And the first six?"

Sticking his tongue out, the Doctor adjusted his coat – it didn't fit quite as well on this shorter, broad-shouldered body, but he'd make it work. "Let's go, then, shall we?"

The Corsair laughed, Jack smirked, and the three of them swung over the railing and down onto the dock, coats flapping behind them.

* * *

The first bar they chose was full, packed with teens dancing to a song the Doctor didn't recognize and never wanted to learn. The Doctor led the way, leaning over the bar and waving at the bartender. "Sir, I would like to inquire after some –"

At that point, the Corsair shoved him out of the way, rolling his eyes. "When was the last time you ordered a drink, thirteen hundred? Let me do it. Barkeep, three pints!"

The bartender stumped over, giving them an interested look. "Sirius, it's been a while. Never seen you with friends."

"You're a _regular_," Jack said, resting his arms on the wood.

The Corsair rolled his eyes. "Obviously. Barney, how're you doing?"

Barney the bartender nodded slowly, waving to one of the barmaids – probably sending her over to deal with the other customers, although the Doctor was ready and willing to admit that he normally let his companions deal with things like this. "Good, good, 'Rus, and how're you?"

"Fair. Three of the norm, that good?" The Corsair jerked his head at the Doctor. "This one just went through a bad breakup – we're all looking to get as pissed as possible, as quick as possible. That cool?"

Barney nodded and shrugged. "Cool. Sorry about that, mate – and 'Rus, that'd be five nineteen."

The Corsair tucked one hand into his pocket, coming out with a bundle of coins. Counting them out, he shoved most across the counter and pocketed the rest. "That do it?"

"Yeah." Barney swept the coins off the counter, sliding them into the register. "It'll be a few."

A _very_ smug grin on his face, the Corsair turned around, leaning back on the bar. "And that is how you do it."

The Doctor scowled, more annoyed that the Corsair had done better than he had. "How is all this conversation getting us any closer to Azkaban?"

"I swear," Jack said, interjecting himself into the conversation for the first time since they entered the bar, "if you turn out to be a morose drunk, I _will _shoot you."

* * *

The next completely clear memory the Doctor had was of lying on something cold and flat and hard, staring up at a stone ceiling before closing his eyes tightly. Sure, there were a lot of fuzzy memories in between – the clearest was of the Corsair firing his wand into the ceiling and a pack of Aurors arresting them – but the first one where his brain was wholly functional again involved a crick in his neck and the uncomfortable knowledge that he _really_ needed to use the loo.

"The Polyjuice's worn off."

_Ow_.

And his head was throbbing. A lot. Why was his head throbbing? It might have been the alcohol. Maybe. He hadn't gotten drunk before – _well_, that wasn't strictly true. But it hadn't happened in this body. Mostly because this body wasn't usually that stupid. Even in his worst moments, he hadn't turned to any sort of human drugs. Sulking in the TARDIS, yes, but not alcohol.

Which meant his head hurt. And a few other things, but all of his pain sensors were complaining about his head.

"Doctor, the Polyjuice's worn off. We need to get moving." Jack's voice, the Doctor's muddled brain said.

_Ow._

Noise made it worse. New discovery. He'd have to log it right next to how his neck muscles felt when he'd been lying on them all night. Also, there was a cramp in his right calf.

Groaning, the Doctor rolled over and stared at the stone floor. "Ow."

"Wimp." This one was the Corsair.

Opening his eyes again, the Doctor stretched out his arms until they hit metal bars. "I drank more than you did last night," he felt the need to point out.

A snort, probably from the next cell over. "Still a wimp."

"Shuddup." The Doctor shoved himself up, kneeling on the floor, and staring forward blearily. His head still hurt.

The Corsair laughed. "When was the last time you got drunk?"

Running his hand through sweaty hair, the Doctor glared in the direction of the other cell. "Last body. Right after. Bad memories, so I don't do it much."

There was a period of silence, which the Doctor was glad for because it gave him the opportunity to switch to a sitting position and try not to vomit. He was in a cell, about eight feet on a side, three stone walls and one of metal bars. On the opposite wall from the bars was a small window, slightly above head height. There was a cot and a hole in the floor. Other than that, the cell was bare.

From his cell, the Corsair sighed. "Detox, Doctor. I know they taught you that."

The Doctor made a vain effort not to roll his eyes. The Corsair had a point, though: he did know how to detox, and somewhere in his head he even knew how to do it without three random ingredients. It involved his immune system – he had to stimulate it, poke and prod it into overreacting, expelling the alcohol through any orifice available – it was also all around disgusting.

Turning his attention inward, he funnelled energy into his lymphoid system and then began to systematically clean his circulatory system of pollutants. The waste went into his kidneys; he shuddered. Restoring the baseline pH of every cell in his body – not pleasant.

"That looks painful." Jack, it had to be.

Stumbling over to the hole in the corner, he retched until he dry-heaved. His kidneys could wait; his stomachs couldn't. Straightening up, he spat one last time and then turned to the Corsair, who looked far too pleased with himself. "Right, it's _your_ plan – how're we getting out?"

Standing up gracefully, the Corsair smirked. "Like this." He took a deep breath, straightening his shoulders and then – the first change was his suit. It – _flowed_, shrinking into his skin and reappearing as black fur. His face lengthened into a snout, joints shifting, a tail sprouting out from what-had-been his suit jacket and was now shaggy fur that ran down his spine. Collapsing on four paws to the ground, the Corsair turned his head to face the Doctor, tongue lolling out of his mouth.

"Ah," the Doctor said, beginning to grin. "Right, 'cause you're Sirius Black. Forgot you could do that."

Panting heavily, the Corsair's tail thwapped back and forth. _Evidently_, he sent, mind brushing fondly against the Doctor's.

From the cell on the other side of the Doctor's, Jack cleared his throat. "Can you turn into anything else?"

The Corsair growled briefly, and then paced over to the bars of his cell. Tail wagging smugly, he slipped through them, walking around to stand in front of the Doctor's cell. Sitting down, he exhaled sharply, and then transformed back. The reverse transformation was just as fascinating: the fur receded, replaced by the suit, the tail vanished, joints reversed. Straightening his jacket, the Corsair smirked. "There."

Behind him, the Doctor could hear Jack stand and walk over to the bars. "How's that get _us_ out?"

Snickering, the Corsair met Jack at the bars of his cell. "I'll go steal a wand, come back, and _let_ you out, that's how."

Jack grinned, the Doctor just catching the edges of it as he turned. "Cheeky. Go on then, prove it."

The Corsair threw back his head and laughed, transforming as he did so; woofing quietly, he trotted off down the corridor, tail wagging.

"Now what?" Jack asked, falling backwards to land on his bed.

The Doctor envied him his coordination. "We wait." Sighing, he sat down on his cot, running a hand through his hair. "Jack?"

Instantly sitting up, Jack cocked his head. "Yeah?"

"How'd you get here?" he asked, falsely casual. It had been bugging him, but he'd never had the opportunity – scratch that, the _inclination_ to check it out before. In other words – he was bored.

Jack looked abnormally innocent. "An accident."

"With?"

Rolling his eyes, Jack leaned against the wall. "My vortex manipulator, what else? I fiddled with it, after – I left, and woke up in a UNIT cell over here. Took me a couple days to figure out that I was in a different universe – no Brig, for one."

The Doctor raised an eyebrow, attention caught. "No? Anyone else not here?"

"Anyone who travelled with you. Even if it was only once, if they've been in the TARDIS, they're not here. There are some look-a-likes, though." Jack shrugged.

Relaxing, the Doctor rubbed the back of his neck. "_Well_ – Time Lords are one of the exceptions to the Law of Transdimensional Multiplicity. Suppose that must go for all time travellers, it just never came up."

In the back of his mind, the Corsair stirred. _We might need to run. A bit. Not much, really, but, you know –_

The Doctor stood up, laughing "Ready to go, Jack?"

Jack moaned, shoving himself off the cot. "Oh god, you two are telepathic, aren't you?"

The Doctor raised a sarcastic eyebrow, ignoring the Corsair laughing madly in his mind. "How'd you know?"

"Bugger," the Corsair muttered, rolling over and looking back down the hallway. "Someone woke up early."

The Doctor groaned, stone pressing uncomfortably into his chest. "You left them alive?"

Snorting, the Corsair stood shakily, brushing off his jacket. "I thought you liked it when I pretended to have morals."

Standing up as well, the Doctor shook his head. "I do – and – and – and I'm glad you left him alive, but"You looked like you were having a conversation in your head," Jack said, smirking, "Hey, Corsair."

Still chuckling as he rounded the corner, the Corsair jangled a ring of keys. "Right boys, let's break out of Azkaban."

* * *

It took a few minutes for the Corsair to work out the key ring, a few more for the Doctor to explain why the screwdriver wouldn't work on a magically locked door, multiple to get their plan of attack sorted out, but finally they were off down a corridor that was only vaguely different from all the others.

And the Doctor was… happy. Well, _happy_ wasn't quite the right word, maybe… contented? Satisfied, satisfied worked. He was satisfied with this – with the three of them, Jack – who he trusted with his life and soul – the Corsair – the only other Time Lord who felt anything for him – and him, maybe broken, but still a fighter.

Behind them came the unmistakable sounds of an explosion. The three of them hit the ground at the same time as a burst of flaming air whooshed over their heads.

–"

"Can we have a moral debate later?" Jack said, shifting uneasily. "Since I'd really rather not get locked back up in the cells we just broke out of."

Grinning, the Doctor took off down the corridor. "Last one to Harry has to explain things to him!"

Caught by surprise, the Corsair swore briefly in Gallifreyan. "You know, sometimes I'm almost fooled into thinking that you're almost a thousand. Then you pull shit like this."

Jack laughed, keeping pace easily with the Doctor. "Come on, Corsair. Quit whining, you knew this would happen."

Just to spite them, the Doctor extended his legs, smiling. Loved a good run, he did. "Hurry up, Corsair, or you'll have to deal with the Aurors."


	50. The Perfect Guards, IV

**Doctor Who, Special Series; Episode 11: The Perfect Guards**

**A/N: Those of you who said this was a happier episode… yeah. Also, I know the end of the last chapter was a bit confusing. It's now on my list of things to fix.**

**For the curious: The Doctor turned into Paul McGann. The Corsair turned into Sherlock Holmes. (I am so, _so_ sorry.)**

**Thanks to: Paul, Shadow Dragon25, Ptroxsora, DragonRose4, Uryuu-Nipaa, LilyLunaPotter142, FlyingLovegood123, JoojooBrother, and Wonderbee31**

**Fun Fact of the Day: Fred and George Weasley were born on April 1st, 1979 (nobody ever said it had to be a _Who_ related fact.)**

* * *

They swung 'round a corner, the Doctor hanging back briefly to check. "_Blimey_," he said quietly, staring back the way they had come. Catching up with the others, he nudged the Corsair. "'s not just Aurors."

"Course it isn't," the Corsair panted. "So?"

Stumbling down a flight of stairs, the Doctor used the handrail to throw himself around the next corner. "B – black robes."

"Shit," Jack said succinctly, which the Doctor felt rather accurately summed up everyone's feelings.

The Doctor snuck another glance behind him. "They're gaining."

The Corsair snarled, taking the lead. "Two more levels, but –" The other Time Lord cut off abruptly, skidding to a halt. "Guards."

_Almost_ slamming into him, the Doctor stared down the hallway.

Azkaban was almost universally dark and poorly lit, with small lantern-globes placed at regular intervals along the corridors. In the shadows between two of these globes was a Thing.

It deserved the capital. It was, _ooh_, ten foot seven, stark black, wearing a hooded and tattered robe that seemed to define its shape. It was definitely alive, each outward breath leaving fog hanging in the air and frost twining along the walls. But other than that –

The Doctor felt another mind – not the Corsair, not any Time Lord, nothing like any telepath he'd ever run into – twisting into his own, sending little psychic tendrils deep into his head. Dark, _twisted_, spiny tendrils, bringing a message of pain and fear and despair.

Heart rates accelerating, he clenched his teeth, shoving at the tendrils. They were sticky and slimy and had spikes stuck throughout his mind and _they wouldn't move_. He couldn't breathe couldn't move couldn't think could only struggle against the invaders in his mind in a battle he couldn't hope to win –

"We're at war, Doctor. You have been recalled to fight for us."

He wanted to die, he was dying, he would always die, because he knew what this was and he couldn't bear to live through it again.

"We released her on the Earth and she is _hungry_, Doctor, she is _so_ hungry."

Not his invention, that was the only piece he could hold onto – that one wasn't invented by him. His fault all the same. All his fault.

"We will initiate the Final Sanction. The end of time will come at my hand. The rupture will continue until it rips the Time Vortex apart. We will ascend to become creatures of consciousness alone. Free of these bodies, free of time, and cause and effect while Creation itself ceases to be."

White fog covered his vision, the parts that weren't occupied by the past. He was only vaguely aware of his knees slamming into the ground.

"You are _diseased_."

_Koschei_ Koschei Koschei. He'd never deserved the other Time Lord. Even with his quirks and psychosis, Koschei had never destroyed a universe through _pride_. He had never hated before then, had never understood what it was to _hate_ until someone insulted Koschei in front of him.

"You cannot stop us now, _."

His name, the feeling of his name itching and burning through Time. Used as an _insult_, used by one who didn't care for him, who would never, _never_ give him any comfort, not when zhe could _destroy_ him instead.

"You would destroy your own people, and for what? For the sake of those who will not remember? You will _die_, alone and forgotten, and all your sacrifices will be for naught, because it _will_ _not_ _work_."

He _screamed_ his pain and sorrow and despair, unable to do anything else. He _expected _ to die, he _wished _to die, death would be less painful, death was welcome because he wouldn't have to live with it, he didn't want to live with it.

"You'll destroy us. Even me – Grandfather, are you sure?"

No, no he wasn't sure, he was never less sure, he wanted only for someone else to make the decision for him, but there was no one else, there had never been anyone else, and all he wanted was to _die_ -

"Gallifrey falling!"

And then he did, pain shattering through his nerves, the golden light of regeneration – no. Silver. Why was it silver?

"_Expecto patronum!_"

The world exploded into silver light. The tendrils vanished from his mind, the light shining into every dark corner. Painfully, the Doctor opened his eyes, staring down the corridor.

The Corsair stood in front of him, wand out, entire posture radiating anger – and was that pride? Between him and the – _dementor_, the Doctor's shocked mind produced – dementor, was a bright silver form.

The Doctor had to blink a few times before his vision cleared enough. A bright, silver, _humanoid _form, wearing a robe, with short, messy hair that stuck up in the back. It ran at the dementor, knocking it down, and then stood over it, throwing punches at the monster. The dementor spasmed, tearing itself away from the patronus, and fled down the corridor.

The cold pressure against his mind vanished. Gasping, the Doctor curled in on himself, arms clenched around his chest. Shuddering, it took him a moment to realize that the warmth against his back was another body, another moment to link a name to the temperature. The Corsair. Had to be.

"Doctor – _Theta Sigma_. Come on, Thete, it's gone now. Deep breaths, okay, just keep on breathing. I'm here, Jack's here, you're still alive, it'll all be alright." Arms pulled him out of his curl. His back pressed against someone's chest, their arms around his own.

Every breath burned, the air too much and not enough like Gallifrey's, each touch of wind against his skin a painful reminder that he had _failed_.

_Don't. I'm here. I'm here for you, Thete, I've forgiven you. You never needed forgiveness, but I offer it regardless_.

He howled, shoving the mind away. He didn't deserve it there was nothing that he deserved except to die because he had _killed_ them all and it was in his head again it was free from its cage in his mind and he couldn't do anything –

"Corsair? He's –" Another hand on his cheek, a hotter, broiling, _human_ hand. "Doctor, we're here for you. The demon-whatsits is gone now. Come back to us."

Whimpering, he pulled away from the heat, jerking free of the grasp around his ribs. "I don't, I can't, I _killed them all you don't understand!_" The words were torn from him in a wail, and all he really wanted was for the dementor to come back, because that was the only way he could ever see them again.

"Damnit. _Expecto patronum!_"

Flaming silver light in front of his eyes. He whinged, cracking them open slightly. The patronus knelt in front of him, silver eyes gentle behind battered specs. Raising a hand, it rested it on the Doctor's cheek. Heat flared through him, heat that drove out the thoughts, heat that cleaned and warmed in more than one way. The patronus smiled, and batted silvery hair out of its eyes, revealing a lightning scar on its forehead.

"Harry?" The Doctor blinked as the patronus pulled back and faded, vanishing into the air in little wisps of fog. Breathing hard, he leaned back against the Corsair's chest. "I – I thought – patronuses were animals."

The Corsair laughed rustily from behind him. "Last time I checked, Doc, I wasn't human, and neither were you."

The Doctor coughed, spitting out mucus and blood from where he had bit his cheek open. He stared at the red flecks on the floor. "Can't – can't leave – genetic material."

With a sigh, the Corsair pulled a kerchief from a pocket. "Here."

He swiped the kerchief over the blood, sticking the thing in his pocket. "The – the Aurors. And the Death Eaters. Where?"

Drawing back, the Corsair stood up, leaving a hand on the Doctor's shoulder. "They took a different route. The paths I know, I found because I was breaking out. They – did it somewhat differently."

The Doctor frowned, latching onto the conversation topic enthusiastically. "Death Eaters – would these be the ones who just broke out of Azkaban?"

The Corsair shrugged, tucking his wand away. "Probably."

Jack laughed. "And didn't you also just break out of Azkaban? Why're they taking a different route." He grinned. "Not that I mind, of course, just – curious."

"Let's get going first," the Corsair said, giving the Doctor a hand up. "What's that phrase you use, Doc? Vamanos?"

Straightening his jacket, the Doctor smiled tightly. "Allons-y!"

The Corsair was the first to start running, but the Doctor followed quickly, Jack lagging behind. "Last time," the Corsair said, feet pounding, "I was here, it was two and a half years ago. They, they only broke out two months ago. Things change."

"So they'll be ahead of us, won't they? Since they know it better?" Catching up, Jack used a lamp to swing himself around a corner, coat flapping.

Shooting him a baleful glare, the Corsair halted at an intersection. "If you wanted to trail behind them, that was an option too."

Jack muttered something that sounded suspiciously like 'sarcastic bastard,' but otherwise let it lie.

"Left." The Corsair took off again, grinning. "They – they'll beat us, but – but we know they'll be there."

The Doctor rolled his eyes, running behind and just to the left of the Corsair. "Duh."

* * *

They reached Harry's cell not too long after, all three panting and grinning. Jack and the Doctor halted behind the last corner, while the Corsair poked his head around. His breath caught before he pulled back, looking down at the other two darkly. "Aurors and Death Eaters. Fighting. And –"

Smoke burst down the hallway, accompanied by a rumbling bang that knocked the Doctor off his feet.

"Someone brought something exploding," the Corsair finished dryly.

"Well _shit_," Jack said.

Breathing hard, the Corsair looked down at the Doctor. "They won't kill him, and we're asking for death by going in. We need another wand. Or two?" he asked, glancing at Jack.

Jack shook his head. "No. I tried. They don't work for me."

"Here." The Corsair held out his stolen wand. "Doctor. Use this. I'll steal another one. You know the spell?"

Clenching his teeth, the Doctor took the wand distastefully. "I can't – too powerful." His eyes flickered up at the Corsair.

The other Time Lord sighed. "Did you have another plan? If a dementor comes, or if the battle spills over," another explosion shook the corridor, "you'll need it."

The Doctor nodded, standing. "Go. We'll wait."

Shaking himself, the Corsair transformed again. The black dog gave the Doctor a long look, and then ran off back the way they had come.

"Are we really going to wait?" Jack asked after the Corsair had left.

The Doctor gave him a cheeky grin. "Me? Wait? We'll be back before he returns." Still grinning, he crossed the hallway and began to run his fingers along the stone. "There are more ways through here than the Corsair knows, and one of them may lead us –" Stopping, he turned away, looking around the corner. "Jack. Come on."

With a groan, Jack followed. "You are aware we are heading _towards_ the battle?" he whispered.

"There's a hallway," the Doctor said, "between them and us. And it should get us closer to Harry."

Jack shook his head. "You're insane."

"Yup!" he responded cheerfully, slipping into the crack. The new hallway was smaller, darker, and _wetter_ than the larger ones, but the Doctor made his way regardless.

Three steps in, he noticed a 5.9 degree decrease in the temperature. Frost was snaking onto the walls and his breath fogged in the air. Breathing rapidly, the Doctor held out both hands. "Look, just wait! I don't want to hurt you!"

"Only you," Jack muttered from behind him.

Ignoring the human, the Doctor took a step forward. "I bet the Patronus Charm hurts you, and I don't wanna do that, I _never_ wanna do that. So just work with me, eh? 'Cause I don't wanna hurt you, and I'm willing to bet that you don't wanna hurt me, not without knowing what's going on. I'm cocky, and I bet you haven't seen that in a while. What do you think?"

The black shape in front of him paused; the tendrils sinking into his mind withdrew. "You… are… different."

Grinning, using his excitement at a new discovery to stave off the depression he could feel edging in, the Doctor rocked back on his heels. "There we go! Righto, you're intelligent. So why are you here?"

There was a long pause. "They… are… our… meat."


	51. The Perfect Guards, V

**Doctor Who, Special Series; Episode 10: The Perfect Guards**

**A/N: Pedantic things first. Episode 11 will be 4 chapters long. To make up for this, episode 12 is probably going to be 6. Ah well.**

**Thanks to: Jimbobob5536 (another wonderful person who seems to be reviewing almost every chapter), Paul, Wonderbee31, JoojooBrother, Pineapple On The Rocks, Iamthe42 (please sign in next time), Kudo Shinichi Tanteisan, MisteryMaiden, Ptroxsora, Ashlee Pond, Habato, Uryuu-Nipaa, FlyingLovegood123, PersonBehindScreen, and LilyLunaPotter142**

_**500TH REVIEWER GETS A ONE-SHOT. **_**Someday I will even get around to writing the 400th reviewers...**

**Fun Fact of the Day: According to Rowling, Lily Potter was pregnant when she was killed, and had persuaded James to let Severus be godfather.**

* * *

_They are our meat._

_These are our forests. They are our meat._

_Count the shadows!_

The Doctor firmly closed his mouth, shaking his head rapidly. "No. No, no, no. But – you can't. You don't eat _souls_, you eat _flesh_!"

The black shape rippled. "This… is… not… your… universe… Doctor… We… feed… differently."

He frowned, running a hand through his hair. "What? No, this universe runs –" But it didn't, it couldn't, magic wasn't possible at home, only here, and here he was a wizard, and the Silurians were called goblins, was it really such a stretch? "Vashta Nerada?" he asked, for confirmation, firmly ignoring the _last_ time he had run into them.

The cloaked form – made up of _millions_ of Vashta Nerada, unless he missed his guess – flowed forward. "We… are… hungry… You… are… not… a… threat… here."

And under most other circumstances, he would have backed down, turned and run and fought somewhen else. But the battle had moved, he could hear it, and sometime soon someone would turn down their corridor, and they had to move forward and rescue Harry and he _had no other choice_. He drew the wand easily, it was the same motion he made to get out his screwdriver.

The memory was easy. All of them. On the TARDIS. Together. Him. The other Doctor. Jackie. Mickey. Jack. Martha. Donna. Sarah Jane. _Rose_. Laughing, because they had _won_. Together. One last time.

"_Expecto patronum!_"

What he didn't expect was the form his patronus took. He didn't expect to see her, leather jacket on, the same gun in her hands that she had carried the last time, facing away from him. She raised the gun and fired it at the Vashta Nerada, balls of silver light that burst on the cloaked form in radiant arrays.

The Vashta Nerada recoiled, billowing in confusion before leaving, hissing angrily.

His hand was beginning to shake but he kept the spell going. He couldn't drop it now, not now that she was –

Ro-_his patronus_ turned, smiling sadly. Letting the gun hang from its strap around her neck, she waved to him, smile turning to a bold grin. She put her free hand up to her lips and blew him a kiss, never breaking eye contact. Her lips began to mouth out a phrase.

He broke the spell then. Wand clattering forgotten to the ground, he collapsed inwards, arms wrapping around his chest in a parody of a hug. Somewhere, his mind registered a high pitched whimpering; it took him a minute to recognize it as his own.

"Doctor? Oh _god_, Doctor, it would be her. Come 'ere."

Warm, _hot_ muscle pressed against his back. An arm snaked around the front of his chest, shoving under his own to lean him gently backwards. "I've got you, Doc. Let it out."

It hurt too much, all of it, seeing her again, and he _knew_ she was happy, but he was alone and heartsbroken and –

_Having a bloody stupid pity party_, a voice in the back of his head pointed out.

He sighed. It was true. He wasn't alone, not _really_, and even if he was, it shouldn't make a difference. Seeing Rose again had just been – unexpected.

Shoving himself upright, the Doctor looked down at Jack, a maniac grin firmly on his face. "Come on, Jack! No use lying about all day!"

Jack stood up, a look of concern on his face. "Doc, is this really necessary? Us – us running around and all? Wouldn't it be safest to wait for the Corsair?"

The Doctor snatched the wand up from the floor before striding off down the corridor. "_You're_ one to talk about safe."

"_Doctor._"

He spun, nervous energy surging through him. "We're going to find Harry so we can get out of here that much faster. The sooner we leave, the sooner –" He waved a hand, couldn't find the words – _I can go and dream of her and hope and pray to whatever gods remain that this is the one that comes true _– and gave up. "Doesn't matter. The point is, we need to hurry."

Jack swallowed, stepping closer to him. The sounds of the battle were abnormally loud to the Doctor's ears. "Something's wrong, Doc. You're – look, you're on edge and jumpy, your emotions are _evidently_ on a hair-trigger, I happen to _know_ that you spent four hours asleep last night, but you certainly don't act it – what's going on?"

Answers ripped through the Doctor's mind, but he didn't say anything for a long moment. "You're right," he answered finally, tension in every line of his body. "There is another problem. A bigger one, much bigger. But – but I don't know how to fix it. I'm dealing," he said slowly, more quietly than before, "with the most urgent problems first, because this one is so big I don't even – I'm trying. Harry's capture is a problem. It's an urgent problem, because he'll go insane if left here too long. So I'm trying to deal with Harry quickly, so I can deal with Voldemort," a stab of pain that he ignored, it was nothing compared to some of the torture he'd been through, "and – and the Master, and still have time to prepare before – before the other one explodes." He was panting by the end, far too aware of how on-edge he was. He had only a glimpse of an idea of what was wrong, knew only that it was bigger than any of the other problems he had to deal with.

Jack nodded, hands deep in his pockets. "It's okay, Doctor. I trust you."

_Why? Why trust _me_?_

The words didn't leave his mouth. Instead he gave a brusque nod, changing plans rapidly. "Good. Go find the Corsair. Tell him I'm dealing with Harry and he needs to be ready to get us out." Grinning, he turned and began running down the corridor, ignoring Jack's staring.

* * *

_I'm in Azkaban._

_I'm not dead._

_I deserve to die._

_I killed them. Mum and Dad, Cedric, Moody, Dumbledore, Seamus._

_Why aren't I _dead_?!_

The thoughts chased themselves around his head as Harry stared at the ceiling of his cell. There was a dementor outside; a little voice in his head said that was why he was so depressed, but it didn't matter now, not really.

He heard them dying all the time, heard their screams as Voldemort and the metal monsters and Thicknesse killed them. That didn't matter either, because regardless of the killer, he was still the reason they were dead.

There were other sounds from outside his cell; dazedly, Harry turned to look. He'd seen only the Auror with his meals for the past few days and the man had never made much noise.

Harry blinked, confused and disoriented. There were people outside his cell in black robes. Scrabbling for his glasses, he put them on, fear clutching deep within his chest. A cluster of black-robed Death Eaters – with Voldemort at their head.

Terrified – and ashamed, because normally he was brave and now he couldn't be – Harry shrank back against the cold, stone wall of his cell.

Voldemort laughed, high and loud and cruel. "Harry Potter. How… _delightful_ to meet you again, and under such favourable circumstances."

Harry whimpered, cold seeping into him and making him shiver.

_I deserve to die._

_I killed them._

_If I die, the war will end. I'll be the last._

_I deserve to die._

With shaky legs, Harry stood up, teeth chattering together. "J-just kill me." Cold and dark and death and fog occupied his mind. "P-please."

Voldemort laughed again, his Death Eaters echoing him. "Under other circumstances, Harry, even I would hesitate to take you up on such a generous offer. After all, the Order of the Phoenix has laid such traps for me before. But now?" He smirked, red eyes harsh. "I think I will." His wand snaked out. "_Avada kedavra!_"

Even as Harry stepped forward to meet the green light, he saw a dash of brown-blue out of the corner of one eye.

"Harry, _don't!_"

* * *

The Doctor stared, panting, at Voldemort. "No," he said, more quietly.

The Dark Lord cackled, raising his wand and pointing it at the Doctor. "He is dead. Your precious little saviour is _dead_. Now what will you fight for? Now how will you oppose me?"

Harry wasn't dead. Harry _couldn't _be – dead, it was just the Horcrux like in the books, wasn't it? But if something had gone wrong, if Harry really was –

Anger blazed through him suddenly. This _wasn't_ supposed to happen. _None_ of it was supposed to happen and it was all his fault. He couldn't put it right, not entirely, that would mean a massive paradox, but he could – oh yes, he _could_ – fix some things. Destroy Azkaban, for one. Pull down its walls, Apparate the prisoners out, leave the ruins for the Vashta Nerada.

_Good_.

Grinning, the fires of a thousand burning worlds shining in his eyes, the Doctor reached both hands out and down. Magic could be sensed along the same senses that Time could, it sang to him, vibrated in the same way. His limited telepathy ran on those senses as well, so he should be able to –

Extending them out and down his arms, through his finger tips and into the walls, he found the nearest ward cluster, and _yanked_. The walls around him shook.

_Bingo_, he thought viciously. Now for the other part.

"What are you doing?" Voldemort stepped forward, eyes wide. His hand clenched on his wand.

The Doctor's grin focused into a smirk. Senses extending through the prison, just a light overlay, he snapped the anti-Apparation wards easily. The power, close enough to artron energy to make no difference, flowed into him. Artron energy was both food and poison to a Time Lord: they absorbed it automatically, like plants did sunlight, but they needed a way to diffuse it, or it built up in their cells and forced a regeneration. Normally, the Doctor used his TARDIS, providing her with fuel, but now he was taking in so much, and she was so far away – he had a theory, thus far supported, that artron energy was the source of the wizards' magic, if so –

Glancing down, he saw sparks flickering off his skin. He suspected his eyes were glowing gold. "Get out," he snapped at Voldemort. "_Now!_ I won't tell you again."

_No second chances. I'm that sort of man._

Something akin to fear – though he doubted the human would ever admit to it – shone in Voldemort's eyes. Inclining his head slightly, he Disapparated. With much murmuring and glancing around, the Death Eaters rapidly followed.

The Doctor bared his teeth in something that might have once resembled a grin, and extended his senses through _all_ of Azkaban's wards, wrapping their power in his own. That done, he had to take a deep breath and stabilize before he could move on. The wards were hundreds of years old, and generations of wizards had reinforced them. Even for him, controlling that much power took work.

It was easy to find the others. His presence along the wards told him everything about the prison, down to the number of blocks in the foundation – twenty-thousand, two hundred and forty three. There was one human and two Time Lords within the walls of Azkaban prison – the Death Eaters had to have killed or released the remaining prisoners and guards. He should have cared about this. He didn't.

His senses found the Corsair's mind. _Corsair. Get here. _Now_. Bring Jack._

He felt the Corsair's shock against his mind, and then the other Time Lord's gradual acceptance. With a _crack_, the Corsair arrived, clutching Jack's shoulder tightly. His eyes immediately found Harry's body.

"Is he –" The Corsair crossed over to the bars of the cell, staring in intently.

The Doctor clenched his teeth, the power bleed-off from the wards racing through him. "Yes," he bit out. "Be ready with all four of us. On my word." Silently, he extended a tendril of power to the Corsair, giving him the strength needed to perform a three-way Side-Along.

Eyes wide, face pale, the other Time Lord nodded. The Corsair blasted open the door to Harry's cell with a single flick of his wand, levitating the body to him with another, all without losing his grasp on Jack. "Go."

Destroying the wards was simple. A surge of power broke the first spell, which fed power back to him that he could use to destroy more wards. When all the wards were broken, he would feed the power into the stones themselves until they reached their bursting point. It felt _good_ to destroy the wards, _good_ to feel the power pulsing through him, _good_ to feel-hear through the wards the Vashta Nerada screaming.

His power raced through the prison. All of the wards were gone, destroyed, and he was slowly filling the stones with as much energy as they could hold. "_Now_!" He threw the last of the artron energy at the stones. As they began to shudder under his feet, he leapt at the Corsair, who twisted to Apparate.

The world spun into oblivion. The last thing the Doctor saw was the exploding paving stones of Azkaban prison before his vision was filled by Time.

* * *

_Next time on Doctor Who – Episode 11: The Fall._

"_Why are you so confident that I won't hurt you?"_

"_Because he'll destroy you if you do."_

…

"_Missing something?"_

"_Oh, you know, this and that, a few marbles, a bar of chocolate, half of my dimensional stabilizers – did I tell you, I once lost forty-nine watches in Beijing. Took me forever to track them all down again. Speedy little blighters."_

…

"_I wasn't 'interrogated' by him. I got Lucius Malfoy, and we yelled at each other for a bit before he gave up. It was very boring and you wouldn't have wanted to be involved. This, on the other hand…"_

…

"_See, but here's the problem, Mouldy-shorts - I can call you that, can't I? Doesn't matter, I will anyway. So here's the problem: you have no leverage on me. You _can't_ hurt me, and I won't _let_ you hurt my friends. Meanwhile, you've got men disappearing, four prisoners you can't hold onto, and a traitor in your ranks."_

…

"_Speaking of which… Bang."_


	52. The Fall, I

**Doctor Who, Special Series; Episode 11: The Fall**

**A/N: New episode! Actually, in two places – both here, and in the real world. And we get the Ice Warriors back and if you haven't seen that spoiler yet, too bad, it's already been out for months and as'lkdfjasldfjlsk.**

**Anyway. This is the shortest episode and I'm sorry. Meanwhile, the next episode is already at 10k and just starting chapter 5 (of 6) so I think I'll make up for it.**

**Thanks to: Paul, Iamthe42, MisteryMaiden, Kudo Shinichi Tanteisan, FlyingLovegood123, Ptroxsora, JoojooBrother, Ashlee Pond, Jimbobob5536, DragonRose4, PersonBehindScreen, Uryuu-Nipaa, and LilyLunaPotter123. Jimbobob5536 got the 500th, which should be posted some time in... May. This along with the 400th, so sorry, Windarian.**

**Fun Fact of the Day: The last time the Ice Warriors were on Doctor Who was in the 1970s, with Jon Pertwee as the Third Doctor. They were later seen in archive footage in the Sarah Jane Adventures, and mentioned in **_**The Waters of Mars**_**.**

* * *

Tonks sat up quickly as the door to her cell opened. "You," she snapped, glaring at the man.

"Me," the Master said brightly, pulling out his wand with his left hand. Today he was short and brunette, wearing a tailored suit rather than robes. The right arm ended in a false hand made of some sort of metal.

Automatically, Tonks raised her arms and ducked her head.

The Master scoffed. "Oh, please don't. As if I would hurt _you_." Twitching the wand, he Conjured a chair out of thin air and sat down in it.

"Of course not," Tonks murmured, sitting cross-legged on the bed. After a pause, she frowned. "So what do you want?"

He grinned brightly. "To chat, obviously. About our mutual friend."

"If you think -!" Tonks began angrily, starting up from the bed.

The Master rolled his eyes. "I don't understand what he sees in you," he said to the ceiling. "If you're this boring _all_ the time, I'd have had you shot."

Biting her lip, Tonks sat back on the bed. "Fine. You want to talk about the Doctor."

Tucking his wand away, the Master leaned forward intently. "Why are you so confident that I won't hurt you?"

Tonks rubbed a fading bruise on the side of her face absently, courtesy of a Death Eater. "Because he'll destroy you if you do."

"You think so?" the Master asked, chuckling. "You're wrong, you know. He'll destroy me if I _kill_ you. He'll only be disappointed in me if I hurt you, and I can live with that."

The glint in his eyes made Tonks shudder. She gulped, apprehension pooling in her gut. "So why not, then?" Her voice shook wildly on the last word.

The Master twisted his lips in a smile. "Because there's no point. I _could_ dismantle you before he gets here, but I really don't see why. I've never been interested in torture for its own sake," he commented, examining his false hand.

"Sure," Tonks scoffed, caught momentarily off guard.

He grinned at that. "Alright, you caught me. Were you aware that the Doctor was in Azkaban last night?" He leaned back in his chair, smirking.

Tonks blinked. "Oh." She did manage to hold back the instinctive next word – _shit_. "Why?"

The Master waved a dismissive hand – the real one. "It's under a different name but honestly? John Smith, Oruc Barbossa, and Jackie-boy? Not too hard to figure out. Breaching the Statute of Secrecy. It was completely intentional – he wanted into Azkaban." His mouth twisted into a smile backed by a strange sort of pride. "He wanted to get Potter out – apparently," he said, falsely casual, "he cares more about Potter than he does about you."

"That's not true!" Tonks shot back, stung.

The Master snickered, evidently pleased with himself. "Regardless, he blew up Azkaban today. Two Time Lords and a human freak are on their way here."

It took Tonks a moment to sort this out. "And Harry?"

"Dead," the Master said, full of vengeful glee.

Tonks flinched, blinking back sudden tears. "Damnit," she whispered, covering her face with one hand. "He didn't deserve that."

The Master made a noise of utter disinterest. "The Doctor is coming here – which is, of course, where I want him – the Dark Lord is unnecessary now, it's time to be rid of him, but the Doctor is coming_ here._ To _me._ After a plot _I_ engineered just killed a human _he_ decided to care about." He paused, voice trailing off awkwardly.

Tonks sniffed, looking up. Travelling with the Doctor – you learned to put logic first and emotions second. You _had_ to, at some points, even when all she wanted to do was curl up in a ball and cry, because saving the world was more important. "You're _scared_ of him."

He shrugged. "I have a strong sense of self-preservation and _no_ wish to see this plan wrecked because I could not manage to keep my hands to myself."

"Scared," Tonks repeated, holding on tight to this knowledge as her anchor against a sea of depression. Harry's death hovered at the back of her mind, a dementor she did not want to examine too closely.

_Harry's dead._

_The Doctor went to save Harry rather than me._

_But I can't let the Master win. I've got to – I've got to get information. Hold it together, Tonks. Stay strong. Just get through this conversation. Come on, Tonks._

The Master sighed. "If you insist, yes. Now, Nymphadora Tonks." His expression changed, becoming more predatory. "How do _you_ know he'll destroy me if I touch you." A smirk grew on his face. "And, perhaps, more to the point: Why do you still trust him after showing you such a thing?"

Tonks shuddered, keenly aware that she was one wrong word from breaking down. "I – I –" Her breath caught; she wasn't entirely sure what, if anything, she should tell him.

"It's okay, Tonks," the Master said soothingly, smiling. "You can trust me."

She nodded, suddenly wanting to tell him everything. "I died," she said abruptly. "I got better, but – but I saw him right after."

The Master laughed, shaking his head. "Not a sight you want to repeat, eh?" With a firm nod, he stood, drawing his wand. Lazily waving it, he vanished the chair. "This has been a very informative session, Nymphadora Tonks. I hope to have more such in the future."

"_What_?" Tonks bolted up, head clearing. She remembered that the Master had always been good at hypnosis; now she knew how it felt. But she'd _never_ meant to give him anything he could use against the Doctor.

The Master smirked predatorily. "You've been _such_ a valuable source of information. I'll make sure the Doctor learns that when he returns."

Sitting, Tonks chocked back a sob. She had abandoned her entire life, left it in ruins for the Doctor, and now the Master was planning to destroy even _that_. And she was stuck with the Death Eaters – Tonks rubbed her cheek again.

"What's that?" Eyes tracking her movement, the Master crossed the room in a flash, pulling her hand away with the fake one. Snarling quietly, he stroked her cheek, fingertips gentle, tracing around the faded bruise. "Who did this?"

She looked up at him, confused and frightened, too scared to pull away. Was he going to send her back to them? That seemed like him. "It – it was nothing, just – just processing –"

"Who didthis?" he repeated, low and dangerous, snarling through the words.

Any answer she might have made – and she didn't know what to say, if she told him, he'd send her back to them and they'd hurt her more, and if she didn't, he'd only find someone else to hurt her – was cut off by a wonderful glorious noise.

_Vwoorp-vwoorp-vwoorp_

Tonk's heart caught in her throat as she stared at the corner, waiting for a blue police box to materialize.

It didn't.

Instead, a small sailboat, still too big to possibly fit in the space allowed, appeared, landing on the floor with a _thunk_ and a rattle.

A tall slender man wearing a blue pinstriped suit and brown longcoat fell out of the aft cabin, landing on his back on the cot next to Tonks. Grinning up at the open door, he yelled, "Fly, you fools!"


	53. The Fall, II

**Doctor Who, Special Series; Episode 11: The Fall**

**A/N: Um… I may sort of have lied in the review responses. Maybe. *hides***

**Thanks to: Paul, Wonderbee31, Uryuu-Nipaa, Izzy Jizzy, Ptroxsora, MisteryMaiden, LilyLunaPotter142, Stellarsong, FlyingLovegood123, and Jimbobob5536**

**Fun Fact of the Day: Neil Cross, who also wrote **_**The Rings of Akhaten**_**, wrote this week's episode,**_** Hide**_**. You should all be very, very scared now.**

* * *

As the Corsair's TARDIS dematerialized, the Doctor sat up cross-legged on the bed, grinning. "Hello, Tonks!" After a brief pause, he added, "Master."

Scanning the room rapidly – bed, two people, four stone walls, wooden door with small barred window – the Doctor turned to Tonks, still beaming. "Ready to get out of here?"

Tonks blinked once and nodded. "Yeah. Please."

"Doctor," the Master purred, smirking. "Missing something?"

The Doctor bounced to his feet, shoving his hands in his pockets. "Oh, you know, this and that, a few marbles, a bar of chocolate, half of my dimensional stabilizers – did I tell you," he said, spinning to face Tonks, "I once lost forty-nine watches in Beijing. Took me forever to track them all down again. Speedy little blighters."

The Master cleared his throat. "Are you certain that one of your plans didn't go wrong somewhere?"

"Oh yes," the Doctor said, beaming at him, "quite certain. Everything's proceeding just how I like it."

Raising an eyebrow, the Master crossed his arms over his chest. "I'm forced to wonder, Doctor, what you could have left, now that your precious little Saviour is dead."

"Oh, didn't I tell you?" The Doctor grinned wider than ever, spinning in a delighted circle, hands flying. "He's not dead! Perfectly healthy – better than ever, in fact, now that he doesn't have a Horcrux in his head."

Tonks looked up at him, eyes wide. "Really?"

Far more interesting to the Doctor's mind was the Master's rapidly paling face. "Another one?" he whispered.

The Doctor shrugged casually. "Not any more. Just, you know, a quick question: You know about them too?"

"The Dark Lord trusts me. And," he waved a hand nonchalantly, "his mental defences aren't nearly as strong as he likes to believe."

Grabbing Tonks' hand, the Doctor pulled her up from the bed. "Let's go. My TARDIS is nearby, and we'll all get out of here."

The Master's eyes narrowed as he stepped between them and the door. "The Dark Lord has become a thorn in both of our sides. I am planning to bring him down irrespective of your assistance."

"Good," the Doctor said, beaming.

"Good?" the Master echoed faintly.

For a moment the Doctor didn't reply; finally he stopped moving entirely. "You're off balance. Why?"

The Master snarled. "Why is the Dark Lord's death good?"

"Touché," the Doctor said, smiling, something dark in his eyes. "Voldemort has run out of chances. He is too dangerous for me to leave alive." Armies had run from that tone of voice; if Jack had been there, he would have recognized it as the voice of the Time Agency's top ranked torturers. It was the sound of Judgement Day, of an implacable force come to destroy.

Of a Time Lord wrestling with his own demons. Inside, the Doctor was nowhere near as calm as he appeared.

_What am I doing?_

_He deserves to die._

_So do I._

_I can't make that decision._

_But leaving him alive will allow him to win._

_As it did with me._

_I can stop him without killing him, I've done it before._

_He will continue, though. Can you bear the weight of those deaths?_

_No more!_

_They won't be my fault, they'll be his, for killing them._

_But by moving now, you can save them. Isn't that more important?_

_It's all my fault._

_What if I lose control again?_

_Tonks._

_I didn't have a companion Then._

"Doctor?"

He looked up sharply, almost trembling. "Let's go." Flipping his screwdriver out, he crossed the room and touched it to the cell door before remembering. "You left the door open. Why did you leave the door open?"

The Master shrugged casually. "She wasn't about to make it past me."

Somewhere up above, there was a loud crash followed by screams. The Doctor and Tonks exchanged looks. "_Allons-y_, Tonks!" With a grin, he took off for the door, coat flying out behind him.

Out the door, down a corridor, up the stairs, through a wooden door – it wasn't locked – down another corridor, and then skidding to a stop in front of a new room, doors open wide.

The room _had _been a rather nice dining area, but the centre table was now ruined by the addition of a wrecked sailing ship – the Corsair's TARDIS. It had crashed, splitting in half, spewing cables everywhere. He could see into one half – the console room was torn open, and it was fortunate that the Corsair liked to keep his control unit slightly off centre, otherwise it too would have been destroyed.

The Corsair had already stumbled out and was leaning against a wall, shaking his head. He was bleeding sluggishly from his shoulder, the liquid visible through his suit. A bruise was starting to form on his forehead.

Jack was lying on the floor, the size of the stain on his shirt indicating that he'd already died once. Even as the Doctor watched, he sat up, running a bloody hand through his hair. "Fuck it."

The Doctor's eyes scanned the room. "Where's Harry?"

Tonks skidded into the room. "Doctor – he went to get help."

Momentarily confused, the Doctor turned to look at her, blinking. "Harry? We – we're in – _oh_. The Master. Right. Course he did. And – Corsair. Where is Harry?"

The Corsair held a hand to his shoulder, shaking his head. "I don't know. He was in there with us, and now –" He swallowed hard, fingers clenching around the wound. "You were right, you know," he said, falsely casual. "It was the wrong brand of duct tape."

The Doctor laughed bitterly at that, shaking his head. "Blimey. We get so close, and then those damn thermo-couplings."

Across the room, a set of doors burst open, revealing a group of men dressed in black robes, wands out. "_Stupefy_!"

Dodging the bolts of light with distain, the Doctor caught a glimpse of the Corsair doing the same thing, laughing. Jack fell back down again, avoiding his own bolts – and Tonks took one straight to the heart.

Even as she fell, the Doctor's pulse accelerated noticeably, body shifting into fight mode. He stepped forward, back straight, head up, emotions icily controlled.

Tonks lay on the floor, motionless. They had hurt _her_, they had hurt _his_ companion, and that was _unacceptable_, he didn't have much of a moral code left, but even he had some rules he expected the rest of the universe to obey, and one of them was that his companions were to be _left alone_. Not him, never him, he never got so lucky, but they didn't deserve that, and he would defend them forever.

_Theta Sigma!_

The name pulled at him, forced him to pay attention. He strained to move forward, but waited. There were very few people who would use that name, and something deep inside told him to wait.

_She's not dead. She's just sleeping, she'll wake up soon. Theta Sigma, don't – _please_. Just surrender, we can make more progress after that. Back away, Thete, just don't do anything –_

He spun, face still. _Don't call me that. My name is the Doctor._ The mental reaction was instinctive, the proper response to someone who had initiated the telepathy.

The Corsair grimaced, hands up. _I know, Doctor, but you weren't listening. Back away now, and let's surrender like nice polite civilized folk._

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Tonks lying still. _Since when have you been nice? Or polite?_

Agreeing to this with a slight nod, the Corsair raised his eyebrows. _I know, but let's just pretend, alright? They're not going to harm her, they've had her for days without anything happening._

Somewhere in the room, he heard the wizards moving forward. It had been 492 milliseconds since they had ceased firing.

_She's been_ bruised_! They hurt her_, he roared at the Corsair.

The other Time Lord flinched, recovering quickly. _And they'll hurt her more if you struggle._

The Doctor bristled, but spun again, holding his own hands up. "We surrender. Don't fire."

* * *

They were separated after that, but the Master showed up quickly and took control of Tonks. The Doctor relaxed infinitesimally. The remaining three were bound with an _incarcerous_ and taken to individual interrogation rooms, Jack looking particularly twitchy – that was right, he had been imprisoned here for months. Another thing he had screwed up.

He was left in the interrogation room, hands bound behind his back and then to the seat back, for 41 minutes and 29 seconds. Then he was taken to another room – Voldemort's throne room, by the looks of it – to talk with the Dark Lord himself. Throughout it all, the Doctor and the Corsair kept faint tendrils in each other's minds – just enough to know that the other Time Lord was alive and not in crippling agony.

The room was large, and almost entirely empty. It looked like it had been a dining room at one point, but had since been repurposed. In the middle of one long wall sat an ostentatious throne on a dais. Otherwise the room was bare of furniture.

The only two people were Voldemort, sitting on the throne, and the Doctor, standing before him.

"It hass been a while, Doctor, hass it not?" Voldemort said, looking down at him with what was presumably sadistic glee.

The Doctor noted that he _really_ wasn't in the mood. "Azkaban was just yesterday, even for you. Hardly a while."

Voldemort leaned forward. "Ssince our lasst proper talk."

The Doctor did his very best to wave a hand, hit the boundaries of the conjured bonds, and just managed to wiggle awkwardly. "Yeah, well, we didn't really _talk_ yesterday. So for you, it's been, what? Since June? I guess that's a while, for a human."

_Are you going to put any effort into being polite?_ the Corsair whispered in his mind.

_No._

"You have been working againsst me," Voldemort hissed.

The Doctor tried to shrug, discovered that the bonds wouldn't allow that either, and gave up. "Look, if you want me to tell you anything useful, you should let me out of these bonds."

Voldemort looked highly sceptical. "Why? So that you can pull one of your escape tricks again? I think not, Doctor."

"Sibilants," the Doctor pointed out. "They're gone again. Anyway, yes, of course I've been working against you, I think you're a massive waste of space who'd be better off in Antarctica, but that doesn't mean that interrogating me is going to get you anywhere."

Voldemort twitched his wand, but then evidently decided against it. It looked like their encounter the day before had taught the Dark Lord something – _what_ was unclear, but caution was a definite possibility. "I have a problem."

The Doctor sat down, crossing his legs in a semi-coordinated fashion. He didn't face plant, so he considered the manoeuvre a success. "And? I'm sure you have many."

"My Death Eaters have been disappearing," Voldemort bit out. He appeared to be keeping a tight rein on his temper – quite a change from the previous June.

_Such a great loss to society, _the Corsair snarked.

_Quiet! I didn't interfere in _your_ interrogation._

_I wasn't 'interrogated' by Voldemort. I got Lucius Malfoy, and we yelled at each other for a bit before he gave up. It was very boring and you wouldn't have wanted to be involved. This, on the other hand…_

The Doctor gave up, turning his attention outward again, because like it or no, what Voldemort had said was ringing several, very unpleasant bells. "People? Where? And how? Any witnesses?" There were many options of what it could be, less if Voldemort actually remembered that they were gone, but still – far too many. He would have to see it in action.

Voldemort smirked slowly. "Are you going to help me, Doctor?"

The Corsair mentally giggled. _He's got you there –_

Anger flashing through him, the Doctor shut down the mental link, closing off the Corsair. Expression completely still, he stared up at Voldemort. "I want an oath from you. Do not hurt my friends. Jack Harkness, th- Sirius Black, Nymphadora Tonks. Do _not_ harm them."

"Or?" Voldemort said, sitting straighter. "You will refuse to help?" He laughed. "There are ways to make you talk."

The Doctor grinned, tight and harsh. Civilizations ran after seeing that grin. "I really doubt that."

Voldemort stood, still smirking. He twisted his wand slightly. "_Crucio_."

Tied up, there was no way to dodge the bolt. It struck him just off centre, and he understood now why people screamed. It attacked his pain nerves, lighting every single one of them up, driving them to send signals faster than they should be able to, activating the pain regions of his brain.

He almost screamed, almost announced his agony to the ceiling – almost warped reality because of the pain shooting through him. Instead he fought it down, systematically closing off the ganglions. He couldn't feel the rub of clothes against his skin, had shut down almost his entire sense of touch, but it was all worth it because he couldn't feel the pain anymore.

Panting, he grinned up at Voldemort. "You'll have to try harder than that."


	54. The Fall III

**Doctor Who, Special Series; Episode 11: The Fall**

**A/N: I swear there was something that was supposed to go here… Bugger it.**

**Thanks to: Paul, Ptroxsora, Stellarsong, Maggie, Izzy Jizzy, Ashlee Pond, JoojooBrother, Wonderbee31, FlyingLovegood123, Iamthe42, SilverLiningofACloud, and LilyLunaPotter142.**

**Fun Fact of the Day: The BBC was unaware that they were burning the only copies of the Doctor Who episodes until 1978. Burning had been going on since 1972. Previously, they had thought there was a master roll of all of the episodes, and what they were burning were the spare copies. (Spoiler: they were wrong.)**

* * *

Voldemort lowered his wand; the Doctor took the opportunity to reactivate his nerves. "I could torture your friends. I doubt they have the same defences you do."

"No," he agreed placidly, forcibly relaxing the muscles in his back, "but the instant you hurt them, you lose the opportunity to find out what I know."

Practically smiling, Voldemort sat back on his throne. "How long could you stand to watch them being hurt? How long would it take you to break, if the alternative was for me to _shatter_ your friends?"

The Daleks had termed him 'The Oncoming Storm' the first time they saw this face. Standing far more gracefully than he had sat, the Doctor smirked at Voldemort. "You would not make it that far."

The two equally calm, cold men stared at each other, smirking. "Are you threatening me?" Voldemort asked finally.

"No," the Doctor responded, stepping forward. "A threat implies the possibility of failure to carry it out."

There was another long pause. "Luciusss," Voldemort hissed in a carrying whisper. "Bring in the girl."

The Doctor turned sharply, staring at a now-open door and the blond quickly moving in the other direction. "_Don't_," he spat, glaring openly at Voldemort. "You will regret it."

"Your choice is simple, Doctor. You can either tell me what I wish to know now, and no one gets hurt, or I can torture your friend, and then you will tell me regardless."

The Doctor panted, weighing the options. He had no leverage, no way out - no. That wasn't strictly true. He'd eaten the magic in Azkaban, couldn't he do the same to his bonds? But there wasn't anywhere for it to go… But letting Tonks be tortured wasn't an option, for obvious reasons, and neither was just giving Voldemort the information. It would show weakness, and it would cost him ground. The Dark Lord would think that he could just interrogate the Doctor, without giving anything in return, and that was - bad.

So he had to eat the magic. Reaching out with his senses again, he mentally traced the spells around his wrists. Lucius had cast them, but his attention had drifted - without the spellcaster in the room, Charms weakened and decayed very quickly. It would still take this one hours to fall apart on its own, but better than warring against another's mind directly.

_What are you doing?_

He ignored the Corsair, focusing on the spell. It was strong, but he was stronger, and he thought he saw a solution for the energy. It was a mental twist, and the spell snapped. His wrists fell to his sides, tingling - they'd fallen asleep long before. The energy rushed through him, making his hair stand on end and his eyes glow. Breathing rapidly, he shoved it down, searching for -

_There_! His link with his TARDIS. She was in range, and not behind spelled doors like she had been in the Ministry. She took the energy eagerly, sending back a soft caress - she missed him, but there wasn't anything he could do about that right now. There were more important things at hand.

Shaking his arms out, he returned his attention to Voldemort. The whole process had taken 4.29 seconds. "Your move."

Voldemort stood sharply, frowning. "How did you do that?" he spat, beginning to hiss faintly again. "What did you _do_?"

"Oh, just a simple mental manipulation. Nothing too hard for a Time Lord like me to figure out," the Doctor said airily, waving a hand. "So I would recommend that you send Lucius to take Tonks back to her cell and leave her be." There was no need to voice a threat.

Stepping down off the dais, Voldemort gathered his robes around him. "Sshe will remain in thiss room but will not be harmed if you cooperate."

The Doctor grinned fiercely, beginning to pace. "See, but here's the problem, Mouldy-shorts - I can call you that, can't I? Doesn't matter, I will anyway. So here's the problem: you have no leverage on me. You _can't_ hurt me, and I won't _let_ you hurt my friends. Meanwhile, you've got men disappearing, four prisoners you can't hold onto, and a traitor in your ranks."

That last caught Voldemort's attention. "What wass that?"

Lucius stepped into the room, dragging a bound and gagged Tonks behind him. "Milord - the prisoner."

It took everything the Doctor had not to grab the magic in the room and burn this building to the ground. Tonks had a fresh bruise on one cheek, visible underneath the cloth gag, and her eyes were wild. Striding over to her, he knocked Lucius out of the way. "Tonks, are you alright?" His voice was quiet and intense; he couldn't bring himself to hold back any longer.

She nodded shakily, spreading her feet decisively.

"Good girl." He placed a hand on her shoulder, pleased to note that she had stopped flinching at his touch, and turned to Lucius. "And you - torturing your niece. How _dare_ you!"

Lucius' eyes flicked rapidly between the Doctor and Tonks. He finally settled for taking a step back, glancing at Voldemort as well. "I didn't - she was already bruised." It sounded pleading.

Voldemort sighed. "You are dismisssed, Luciuss."

No less shakily than Tonks, Lucius bowed, and left the room as quickly as possible.

The Doctor turned to face Voldemort, keeping Tonks behind him. "You'll only get answers out of me if you quit threatening her."

"Tell me about thiss traitor," Voldemort commanded.

Raising a sceptical eyebrow, the Doctor shook his head. "You really don't listen, do you? Quit threatening my friends!"

Voldemort looked at him coolly. "Then ansswer my quesstion."

"_Why_?" The Doctor turned insolently and untied Tonks' gag. "There you go," he said, much quieter. She smiled faintly at him, rubbing her cheek.

Voldemort made an undignified strangled noise. The Doctor fought the insane urge to laugh. "I can offer you rewards."

_Good. Good progression there._

Again, the Doctor ignored the Corsair, even though the other Time Lord was perfectly correct. "I need more information on your disappearances."

"Tell me about the traitor!" Voldemort spat.

The Doctor rolled his eyes, turning back to face the Dark Lord. "I was asking about the disappearances. Your workplace squabbles can wait. These missing people could be a sign of something much larger."

With a dark glare promising vile punishments - the Doctor ignored it - Voldemort returned to his throne. "I am missing several Death Eaters. They have vanished at all times of the day, both alone and in company. The others report that the missing did nothing odd before their disappearance and did not have the opportunity to cast any such spells."

The information was concise and neatly ordered - the Doctor approved. It was one more piece of evidence that Voldemort had been badly misinterpreted in the books - of course he had been. Anyone as ineffectual as he appeared to be would have never had a chance to take over Britain. "These witnesses," the Doctor said, pondering the problem. "Did they report anything around the missing? Warps in the air, strange lights, that sort of thing?" He waved a hand around absently.

Voldemort gave him a steady gaze, red eyes unblinking. "Is thiss important?"

"If it wasn't, I wouldn't be asking."

_Yes you would._

_Will you shut up?_

_No._

Sighing, Voldemort stood, waving his wand at a door. It flew open, revealing an once-attractive older woman with tightly curled black hair. "Bellatrix. Come here."

The Doctor tried not to twitch too obviously. He hadn't met the woman, but everything the Corsair had said matched with the books. She had done unforgivable things, and there was little human left in her, according to his memories. Still - she was alive, and where there was life, there was hope. She could still change. He would reserve judgement.

Bellatrix Lestrange entered the room, eyes scanning it. She didn't move like a soldier, more like a government official, of all things, full of officiousness and authority and an overinflated ego. Her eyes met the Doctor's briefly and widened, but she broke eye contact quickly. Crossing the room, she knelt in front of Voldemort. "My Lord, you asked for me?"

Her tone of voice raised goose bumps on the Doctor's neck. No human over the age of five should sound that _simpering_.

Voldemort, for his part, ignored it. "When Avery was taken, did you see anything odd around him?"

Bellatrix didn't move, but somehow her entire posture radiated confusion. "_That_, my Lord? You ask about that?"

"Anssswer the quesstion, Bella," Voldemort hissed, smiling cruelly, "and you might be allowed to _play_ with my new prisoners."

Tonks made a small whimper, and the Doctor took an angry step forward. He was working with these _humans_ only because he had no other choice - the disappearances were too dangerous to leave be, and Voldemort knew more about them than anyone. It didn't mean he _liked_ it, though, any of it.

Bellatrix smirked, straightening. "There was something, my Lord. When I was discussing our latest results, the air around him turned purple. My apologies, My Lord, I was distracted by the latest tests and I did not think to report it to you." She - the Doctor grimaced, repulsed. She _literally_ batted her eyelashes at Voldemort.

But as nauseating as that was, what was worse was her information. Because what looked like purple to humans was actually the Time Vortex ripping through universes – tearing them apart. People were getting pulled out of Harry's universe and into someplace he didn't know and he had no plans to deal with it.

He paled, and took an involuntary step backward. The last time universes had collided -

_Rose_.

"Doctor?" Tonks whispered, chin not quite reaching his shoulder.

The Doctor took a hasty step forward, out of her personal space. "Just - just a minute." Collecting his scattered wits - he did _not_ need another problem, he did _not_ need to deal with a collapsing universe on top of everything else - he returned his attention to Voldemort. "There's nothing I can do about the disappearances. They'll keep happening, they won't be predictable, they won't be stoppable. I'm sorry. I'm _so_ -"

"_Crucio_!"

The bolt struck him; he was quicker at fighting it down this time. Out of numb lips, he spat, "Haven't you learned that that doesn't work?" As Voldemort dropped the curse, the Doctor took another step forward, hands in pockets. "You have another problem, Mouldy-shorts, one that you're not aware of." He was causing chaos, deliberately sowing destruction behind him, and why? Because less people would die this way, or so he hoped.

_You hope. You. Who are you to make these decisions?_

_I am the only one who knows! The dead, they'll be the ones who don't matter this way. Otherwise - we'll lose Harry and Tonks and the ones who matter._

_Who decides they're so unimportant? You?_

He flinched mentally away from Adelaide's voice, not wanting that reminder that what he was doing was, fundamentally, _wrong_. Not wanting that reminder that he was violating his policy of save everything because he couldn't see another way out.

Voldemort shoved Bellatrix away, glaring down at the Doctor. "What? Tell me!"

The Doctor clenched his teeth, shoving roiling emotions down. "Your traitor. There is a dissenter in your ranks, Voldemort, and he is working to bring you down right now!"

Turn them, get them fighting amongst themselves. Give him time to get to his TARDIS, to try and pull these worlds together or apart, whichever one would save the most lives. He didn't know anymore. He was so old, so tired - the body was young, but the mind was old, and he didn't know anymore how much longer he could continue a losing fight. Every time he saved someone, others died, sometimes more than he saved, and there was no longer a point.

Still, he stood against the dark, fighting for no more reason than because he always had, struggling because there was no one else to do it.

"Tell me his name," Voldemort spat.

Bellatrix stood, moving lazily. Drawing her wand, she pointed it at the Doctor. "How _dare_ you imply that the Death Eaters are not loyal to My Lord," she hissed. "There is not a one of them who would not leap at the chance to die for him –"

"Bella," Voldemort said lazily, smirking again. "You may leave now."

Smirking, Bellatrix tucked her wand back into its holster. "Yes, My Lord. Is there anything else you require?"

Voldemort gave her a veiled glare. "Go."

With a nod that was three inches from being insolent, she stood and left the room.

"Who iss my _traitor_?" Voldemort hissed quietly.

The Doctor grinned, hands in his pockets and rocking from one foot to the other. "Oh, oh, oh, what was his name?" He pulled a hand out, waving it madly. "That's it! Pius Thicknesse. He's the traitor. Good ol' Pius."

Voldemort's eyes widened and he leaned back slightly. "Thicknesssse would not do that."

Rolling his shoulders, the Doctor tried – and failed – not to laugh. "You really don't know much about him. Were you aware that his mental barriers are so strong you probably can't even sense them?"

"I require proof, Doctor." Voldemort pulled out his wand, twirling it absently.

"Why did he bring us here?"


	55. The Fall, IV

**Doctor Who, Special Series; Episode 11: The Fall**

**A/N: You know, if I was clever, I would write these the night before the chapter goes up instead of two minutes before. Oh well.**

**Thanks to: Paul, Ptroxsora, Uryuu-Nipaa, Stellarsong, FlyingLovegood123, Wonderbee31, LilyLunaPotter142, and Jimbobob5536. Special thanks to Paul, who, in addition to putting up with me as my plot runs sideways, has helped me find all of my wandering plot threads.**

**Fun Fact of the Day: The TARDIS was originally intended to be a "proper" spaceship – except the production crew didn't have the money. So then they were going to have a functional Chameleon Circuit and have it change into something appropriate to the era they were in – and they didn't have the money for that either. So she ended up stuck in the only form they'd built at the time – a shoddy replica of a police box.**

* * *

The Doctor spun, staring at Tonks. "Don't –" The word squeaked out unbidden. The _last_ thing he wanted was to bring attention back to her, to place her in more danger than she was already in, and here she was, opening her mouth and helping him, and under any other circumstance he would have adored her for that – he _did_ adore her for that – but he could protect himself against most magic and she didn't stand a chance and his _nightmares_ featured his companions getting hurt because he'd had another _brilliant _idea to save people and all that happened was more got hurt.

"What?" Voldemort stood, stepping off the dais. "Explain that sstatement."

Tonks swallowed, stepping forward, past the Doctor, her arms still bound. "We're not supposed to be brought here. This house isn't set up for prisoners. The interrogation rooms still have _beds_ in them, and the cells are formed out of the wine cellar. So we weren't supposed to come here." Her voice was rushed and frantic, pitch rising uncomfortably towards the end. "And – and if we aren't supposed to be here, then why'd Thicknesse bring us?"

The Doctor grabbed this idea – okay, so he hadn't thought about that, but it wasn't about to stop him – and ran with it. "If th- _Thicknesse_ had really been working for you, he would have taken us to one of your safe houses –"

"Prisons," Tonks whispered.

"Whatever. And not to here, where we could find it so easy to break out," the Doctor continued smoothly.

Voldemort frowned. "Continue."

The Doctor took a deep breath, steadying himself. "Right, he would have taken us somewhere else. So he _wanted_ us to break out, he's not that stupid, he knows that I'm going to escape somehow, so he set you up. He set up our escape and pulled the wool over your eyes and you can't trust him." He finished quickly, forcing himself to ignore how _not-him_ this whole manoeuvre was.

"Who wanted you to break out?"

Spinning, the Doctor's hearts stopped at the sight of the other man. "No –" The word slipped out unbidden, even as his heart rates accelerated.

Voldemort smirked, stepping forward. "Thicknessse. How very nice of you to sshow up _now_."

The Master gave Voldemort a tight, entirely fake, smile before turning his attention to the Doctor. "What have you been telling him?"

The Doctor beamed at him. "Nothing that wasn't entirely true."

Clenching his teeth, the Master scowled. "I'm sure." Turning back to the Dark Lord, he bowed shortly. "Don't believe a word he says, milord. He's always been a liar, you can't trust anything he says."

Walking closer, Voldemort's eyes fixed on the Master. "Prove it," he hissed quietly. "Why did you bring the prissonerss here?"

The Master brought up a polite smile. "I thought you would want to see them, milord; they are important, after all, and the Doctor is the only one left who could pose a threat to your reign."

"Pretty," Voldemort said, "But why not leave them in a safe house and tell me? Ass you so beautifully put it, Thicknessse, they are _important_. You sshould have left them someplace elssse, with sstronger defensess, not brought them _here_."

The Master turned to the Doctor, giving him a steady glare marred somewhat by the slight glimmer of a smile. "He's got a point." Rolling his shoulders, he grinned. "But I've got a necklace." His hand dipped into a pocket and pulled out a long silver chain. From the end of it dangled a blackened locket, formerly decorated with silver and emerald, now burnt and twisted.

The Doctor stared at it. "You've been busy."

"Where did you get that?" Voldemort yelled, the question coming out more as a command.

Smirking steadily, the Master wound the chain loosely around his fingers. "An old, abandoned house in London. Took me a while to track it down, in fact. Absolutely _wasted _several days spelunking my way through every cave on the Dorset coast. Turns out one of yours – a Black, I'm pretty sure – turned on you, did you know that? Anyway, found a note, tracked him down – he's dead, as I'm sure you know – found this, lit it on fire." He frowned at the locket. "Smelled _awful_."

He swaggered closer to Voldemort, poking the Dark Lord in the chest. "You don't have any more soul-pieces, Voldy-boy. I _burnt_ them all."

Nostrils wide, Voldmort narrowed his red eyes. "I have more Horcruxes than you could _dream_ of."

The Master rolled his eyes. "Necklace, crown, cup, ring, and snake. Oh yeah, and Potter, but you took care of that one yourself."

Voldemort, for once, looked confused, as if he didn't quite know where to start with this statement.

The Doctor took the opportunity to step backwards, herding Tonks out of the way. "Let's just – stay out of their way, shall we?" he whispered, uncertain if the situation should be humorous or not.

"How _dare_ you dessstroy my Horcruxxess," Voldemort hissed. He pulled out his wand, jabbing it at the Master. "He wasss right, you _are_ a traitor."

The Master shrugged. "Alright, so I lied. Point remains – I can control you, Voldy, because _you_ can die, and _I_ can't."

Voldemort snarled. "_Avada Kedavra!_"

Evading the bolt with ease despite their proximity, the Master gave Voldemort a look, eyebrows raised. "That didn't mean I'll _let_ you. Look, give in now. It'll be much easier, and much less painful for both of us."

Straightening, Voldemort took a step backwards and extended both arms. "_Potestatem_ _tempus_!"

Power in the form of golden-purple-blue light swirled around his hands; the sound of a gale-force wind was audible.

The Doctor blinked, translating the rudimentary Latin. "Not good," he whispered faintly.

Tonks stepped closer to him, moving jerkily. "Why?" Her breath brushed over his ear; he struggled not to turn and attract the attention of the others.

"The power of time. _Oh._" His eyes widened, his adrenaline levels spiking again. "Oh!" he repeated, louder, too worked up about the new discovery to care that he was drawing attention to himself. "He's trying to draw power from the Void. _That's_ why people have been disappearing, he's opening cracks in the universe. But there's nowhere for them to go –that's _brilliant_ – they're _trapped_. Stuck, in suspended animation. It's not _real _power, not really."

The Master turned to him, raising an eyebrow. "Don't mind me."

The Doctor didn't, because he'd figured it out. "You're getting power through the cracks, but the Void is trying to fill itself again, so it takes the people. But the cracks aren't large enough to fit people – not yet, at least – so they just hang there, outside time. When you release the spell –_ bang_, they all pop back into place."

"Speaking of which," the Master said, grinning. Pulling out a revolver, he spun and pointed it at Voldemort. "Bang."

_Click. Bang_.

The reverberations from the gunshot shook the floor.

_Click-bang._

Voldemort fell almost in slow motion, head and neck destroyed by the two shots. Blood splattered over the floor as his body crumpled. He remained a corpse for a bare second before dissolving into ashes, the black flakes scattering in the wind caused by his collapse.

The Doctor stared down at the ash, blinking. "There have been more climactic death scenes."

The Master laughed. "You wanted climactic? This story isn't over yet, Doctor, not nearly over. Oh." Smirking, he dipped into his pockets again. "Got a present for you." This time he came out with a cluncky ring and tossed it over to the Doctor.

He caught it easily, staring – first with confusion, and then with a growing sense of wonder and despair – at it lying in his palm. It was gold, although it had been tarnished and blackened by time. In the setting was a cracked black gemstone. "No," he breathed quietly, closing his fingers over the ring.

The thing he wanted to do more than anything else was flip the ring over in his hand three times, but he wasn't sure who would come back, if anyone would want to come back, and if it used _his_ power then there would be many of them or they would _really_ come back, not just as shades but as _people_ and that would be very Not Good.

Sighing, he slipped the ring into his pocket. "Thanks, I think," he told the Master, smiling. "Right, Tonks, we should really, really get going – ah – _now_."

Behind him, Tonks laughed softly. "I'm a bit tied up at the moment, sorry."

He spun, frowning. "Did you have to make that pun? Fine, fine, I have – a screwdriver!" He pulled it out, looked at it, and tucked it away again. "No. Better – a wand!" He'd held onto it after Azkaban, he hadn't been sure why, but that turned out to be a good thing, because he really wasn't sure how else he'd get out of this. "_Finite Incantatum_."

Tonks' arms dropped to her side, and she rolled her shoulders to get them loose again. "Good. Time to run?"

"No." The Master levelled his gun at the Doctor. "It really would make my life easier if you didn't."

The Doctor raised an eyebrow at him. "Why? Other than the obvious, of course." He waved a hand wildly.

The door opposite him rattled, and the Doctor's senses spiked. "_Tonks_!" He dove at her, knocking her to the ground and covering her head.

The doors burst open; Jack came through in a tuck and roll, cracking his head against a column. "Bloody hell!"

More sedately, the Corsair followed, robes billowing. "We've got incoming, Doc."

A second set of doors disintegrated, these ones revealing a group of Death Eaters, Lucius Malfoy at their head. "Milord? We heard shots."

In the commotion, the Master dropped the gun and kicked it with one foot. "He's dead, Lucius."

There was a scream from the back of the group. The Doctor ignored them, mostly, helping Tonks stand up. "You alright?"

"Yeah," she whispered. "We've got a problem, though."

Lucius' eyes flickered between the Master and the pile of ash. "He's – dead. He's really – _dead_?"

The Master did his best to look sorrowful. It wasn't really convincing, but the Doctor supposed it didn't have to be. "Yes. Now we need to find a new leader."

The Corsair stepped forward, smirking. "Moving a bit fast, aren't we? Your _master's_ barely dead and you're already looking to take his spot."

"Says the man who crashed his TARDIS into a dining room table because he used the wrong brand of duct tape," the Master shot back.

Lucius cleared his throat. "Pius, who killed the Dark Lord?"

The Master made a face that looked like a cross between a grin and a grimace. "He did. The Doctor. You can see it, the gun's right by his feet!"

Alright, so yes, that was where the Master had kicked the gun, but really, he'd been a bit preoccupied. As entertaining as all this was, the Death Eaters weren't going to hold for long. The Doctor took a slight step forward, just enough to catch the Corsair's eye. "We need to get out."

The Corsair nodded, his mind brushing against the Doctor's. _Go ahead. Jack's still got his vortex manipulator. You're in the most danger. Get your human out. I'll use the vortex manipulator to get my TARDIS up and running again and we'll rendezvous at Edinburgh Castle._

"I've seen you before," Lucius said darkly, glaring at the Doctor. "You were at a meeting. You – _you_ – killed the Dark Lord?"

The Doctor raised an eyebrow. "No need to sound so doubtful."

Tonks poked him. "Doctor – run – now?"

"Right!" The Doctor grinned, reaching out a hand for Tonks. "Now, we run!'

She laughed, taking his hand. Even as they ran for the door – the first spells exploding harmlessly over their heads – a flush of pleasure ran through him. She was _touching_ him again – they'd come so far since – since a day he didn't particularly want to remember – but she was _touching _him, she'd _forgiven _him, and whether or not he deserved to be forgiven, she had, and that made him grin even as they dashed down the halls.

His TARDIS sang to him, louder the nearer he got, her joy ringing in his mind: _returning my thief is/was/will be/always has been returning together we are together again always once forever always always always always_.

For a sentient time-travelling spaceship, she had a remarkably good grasp on 'forever'. He brushed against her mind as he swung her doors open, and she lit up, the console room bursting into blue light. _Back back back back you were/are/have been/will be gone but now now now now you're here here with me/us/them/you_.

Closing the doors with a snap, he spun around the console, coat tossed to hang off a support strut. Tonks leaned against the console and laughed.

The Doctor and his companion in the TARDIS – just as it was supposed to be.

* * *

_Next time on Doctor Who – Episode 12: The Possibilities_

"_So where are we?"_

"_Good question. Environmental checks?"_

"_I'll get the door."_

…

"_You're not supposed to be here! You're tearing apart the universes. No – go back! Now!"_

"_You were the one who told me to come."_

"_What? What? But – _no_! I don't need you, I don't need your help, you're making things worse –"_

"_And you've gone all hysterical. Hush. I'm supposed to be here. _Helping_."_

…

"_I need your TARDIS key."_

"_Why can't you use the Corsair's?"_

"_I – ah – can't find it."_

"_It's a _boat_, it shouldn't be that hard to find. Did you try Bristol?"_

"Yes_, I tried Bristol. I think he cloaked it."_

"_How do you _lose_ a TARDIS?"_

…

"_You made a joke there."_

"_If I can't find something to laugh at, I _will_ die."_

"_We have to release it again."_

"_The _universe_ is at stake this time. You would destroy all that -?"_

"_Dying now or dying under the Daleks, which would you prefer?"_

"_The Daleks."_

…

"_You ever heard of Schrodinger?"_

"_No. He a Muggle?"_

"_Yes. _Well_ – yes. Human, no, but not a wizard. I think."_

…

"_And if that doesn't work?"_

"_We die. But we were going to do that anyway, so I say, damn the howzers and full speed behind!"_

"_It's damn the _torpedoes_, Doctor, and full speed _ahead_. For a man who can recite _Hamlet_ by heart –"_


	56. The Possibilities, I

**Doctor Who, Special Series; Episode 12: The Possibilities**

**A/N: I freaking **_**love**_** this episode. Just an FYI. It's the _longest_ one, it's longer than _A Mad Man With a Box_, but I squashed it into six chapters because it worked better that way. Also, am about to start watching **_**Journey to the Centre of the TARDIS**_**, so my review replies will be affected accordingly.**

**Thanks to: Paul, Wonderbee31, Ptroxsora, Uryuu-Nipaa, Stellarsong, Iamthe42, DragonRose4, Ashlee Pond, FlyingLovegood123, Eclipse Wing, LilyLunaPotter142, Jimbobob5536**

**Fun Fact of the Day: The TARDIS noise is produced using a house key on piano string and the best of 1960s music tech. (Do not try this with your parents' piano. They will not take it well.)**

* * *

"Doctor," Tonks said, sitting in the pilot's seat, legs crossed. "Where are we going?"

He grinned, flipping another switch. He was – well, 'happy' wasn't quite the right word, he wasn't usually 'happy' – content, because it was him and his TARDIS and his companion and they were off to find_ another_ Time Lord, one who _liked_ him, of all bizarre ideas, and for once in his life, things weren't as disastrous as they could be, and he was _content_. "Edinburgh! Capitol of Scotland, land of the free, home of the brave – the Americans stole that, it's really meant for Scotland." Hitting a button, he landed the TARDIS.

Tonks gave him a look. "So where are we?" Right now, her hair was her favourite pink and spiky. At some point she had exchanged the black leather jacket for a button-down shirt and vest. He preferred it to her former outfit: no – _less_ bad memories.

"Good question." The Doctor beamed. "Environmental checks?" He glanced at his long coat, trying to decide if he wanted it or not. Not, he thought, not unless there was obscene amount of water leaving the skies. He wasn't in a mood to be dramatic.

She laughed. "I'll get the door." Rolling off the chair, she strolled over to the doors.

Instinct drove him to pull up a screen and have the TARDIS make the checks, instinct and a sense of self-preservation he had learned never to ignore. He gasped at the readings, a word slipping out in Gallifreyan. It wasn't possible, it wasn't allowed, she had been locked away and couldn't ever get out, he had made sure of that, but somehow she had, because those readings – he'd seen those readings before.

Tonks pulled open the door, sticking her head out. "Well, you landed outside, at least."

"_Tonks_!" He tore towards the door, not certain what he was trying to do, only aware that things had gone horribly wrong yet again and he had no way to fix them.

She turned around, looking at him with a frown. "What is it, Doctor? What's wrong?"

He grabbed her shoulders, holding eye contact. "Did you breathe the air?" He paused, panting. Tonks stared at him, uncomprehending. "Did you? _Answer_ me, Tonks – did you breathe the _air_?" It didn't matter for him, he was safe, he was immune, but if she got even one breath – it was infesting the entire planet at this point, there was no way – if she hadn't taken a breath –

Swallowing, Tonks nodded. "Yeah – why? Is that bad, or something? Doctor, I don't get it – it looks like Earth, it looks like we landed in the slums of a city or something. Yeah, not Edinburgh Castle, but closer than normal."

_Lost._

She was lost already, and there was nothing he could do about it. Dropping his hands, he pulled away. "Take another look," he said, turning to the console and stroking a control. "I'm sorry, dear, I'm so sorry." Even she wasn't safe, he was going to be the only one left _again_ and he wasn't sure if he could take it, this time.

The door was still open, air circulating into the TARDIS. It was too late, it was minutes too late. The TARDIS was already powering down, lights diming, the familiar noises fading to nothing. He was lost and there was no way out and he had screwed this one up so badly –

Tonks looked at him. "What for? And what am I supposed to be seeing?"

He sighed. "We may as well go outside, there's no point in staying in here." He crossed the console room, stepping out into the sunlight, far too bright and harsh. As Tonks followed, he sat on a rubbish bin that had been tipped on its side. "You worked it out yet?" He blocked the sun with one hand, smiling up at her, bitterness in his eyes and self-hate in his heart. "No people. There are no people. Anywhere."

She frowned at him, her hair fading to brown. "No –_ no_. Doctor – where are we?" She was pale and shaking – she knew, she had to know, but he thought she was in denial.

No time for consolation now. "Earth. London – Grimmauld Place, or fairly close to."

_Lost lost lost_

There was no way out, no way to save her. Nothing was coming except death and for once in his life there was nothing he could do about that.

Tonks whimpered, sitting on a bin next to him. "But – where are the people? Doctor – what happened here?" The last sentence came out in a half whisper, voice strangled by threatening tears.

"I made a mistake," he whispered. "It's not May of 1996. It's May of 2013. And somewhere between 1996 and 2013, things went very, very wrong. Someone made the wrong choice and a lock that should never have been opened –" He swallowed painfully. "Something got out."

Breathing rapidly, she shook her head. "Doctor – the people? They aren't –"

He avoided her gaze, rubbing one shoe against the dusty ground. "Dead." He stood, hands shoved in his pockets, staring blankly at the all-too-cloudless-sky. "There are two living beings on this planet right now – _well_," he said, taking the opportunity to change the topic, "there are millions upon millions of microorganisms living inside you and me, and they're alive too. But other than us, and the lives we brought with us – the two of us, sitting here, we're the last two left alive on this Earth. In this universe."

Feeling older than ever, his gaze swept across buildings, now abandoned and dilapidated. Rubbish covered the streets, but it wasn't rotting. It sat there – just like the world it resided in – waiting for the end of the earth. Nothing could survive this planet, not now. Not ever again. "And soon there will just be one."

Tonks looked up at him, the skin around her eyes flushed and red. A tear trembled at the inside of one, and she reached up to swipe it away. "Doctor?" Her voice trembled and he would give _anything_ not to say what had to come next.

"I'm sorry, Tonks." He knelt beside her, wrapping her hands in his own. "I'm so, _so_ sorry, but – you're going to die."

She jerked back, shaking her head. "No – no, no, no." The words ran together, blurring into almost incomprehensibility. "Why?"

He swallowed again, hating this, hating himself. "It's a plague," he said, voice rasping rather more than it should. "And – you don't have any defences. I – I'm sorry," he repeated, _hating_ that there was nothing else he could do. He was stuck, stuck watching her die in front of him, and there was _nothing he could do_.

Tonks shivered, looking down. "One – one thing, Doctor," her eyes met his, hazel and full of tears, "stay with me. Please?"

Standing, he kept a hold of her hands. "Nymphadora Tonks," he forced up a smile just for her, just for this brave loyal girl who was going to die through no fault of her own, "it would be my honour."

He didn't mention that there was no way out. He didn't mention that when she died – as she would, as they all did – he would be stuck here. Alone. Forever.

The light _crackled_ and static leapt through the air. He shouted, jumping back and pulling Tonks behind him, putting himself between her and whatever it was.


	57. The Possibilities, II

**Doctor Who, Special Series; Episode 12: The Possibilities**

**A/N: I don't know if I've mentioned it, but this episode will be 6 chapters long. FYI. They're also long chapters.**

**Thanks to: JoojooBrother, EmeraldWings90, Iamthe42, Eclipse Wing, Stellarsong, Ptroxsora, Guest, LilyLunaPotter142, Jimbobob5536, Brambleshadow of WindClan, and Wonderbee31.**

**Fun Fact of the Day: Matt Smith is notoriously uncoordinated and frequently breaks props on set.**

* * *

The air cleared, revealing a strongly-built woman with tight blond curls pulled up in a bun. "Hello, sweetie." Smiling, she snapped her vortex manipulator shut before striding forward. "And you must be Tonks. He's told me all about you, of course," she finished, smirking at him.

The Doctor opened and shut his mouth several times. "You – but – _River?_" It didn't make any sense, it couldn't be possible, it shouldn't be _happening_ – but he felt better already.

She grinned, something he hadn't thought he'd see in this body. "Yes dear, it's me," she said, blue-green eyes twinkling. He could already tell that he was going to spend a lot of time describing those eyes, some day when they were at the same point in their relationship.

He ran a hand through his hair, suddenly frustrated – and remembering _why_ this was such a bad idea. "No – River! You're not supposed to be here! You're tearing apart the universes. No – go back! Now!" If he could get her to go back – but she had already breathed – but two hearts – she had a chance, a chance Tonks didn't have – the longer she was here – her body could fight it – this didn't have to be a paradox –

"You were the one who told me to come," she said instantly, as if she had been expecting this argument.

His eyes widened and he automatically stepped forward, because what would he be _thinking_ to send her _here_? "What? What? But – _no!_ I don't need you, I don't need your help, you're making things worse –"

"And you've gone all hysterical." She tapped him on the nose, and he wrinkled it, staring at her finger. "Hush. I'm supposed to be here. _Helping_."

Resisting the urge to stick his tongue out at her – and there was a thought, what _was_ it about this woman who could so instantly reduce him to childhood? – he crossed his arms instead. "I can do it on my own."

River raised an eyebrow, crossing her own arms. "Don't try to lie to me, darling. It never works."

Okay, no, he couldn't do it on his own, but how did _she_ know that? And besides, do what? He was stuck, stuck here in this post-apocalyptic Earth and there was _nothing_ she could help with. With a sigh, he ran his hand through his hair again. "Doesn't matter anyway," he muttered, avoiding her eyes. "There's no way for you to get back." Not now, the longer she stayed the less traces there would be – a vortex manipulator wasn't like a TARDIS, and this could have saved her, but it was too late now, aeons too late.

"Doctor?" Tonks stood, hastily wiping tears out of her eyes. Of course – he was visibly upset and had told her she was going to die. He had to get that under control soon, before he upset her further. "Who's this?"

The Doctor made a short strangled noise, looking between the two women. "Ah – Auror Nymphadora Tonks, this is Professor River Song. River, this is Tonks."

River laughed. "Thanks, sweetie, but I can introduce myself." Smiling, she focused her attention on Tonks. "I've known him for a while – we run around together, travel places, save worlds – his standard gig, actually, only with more shooting."

Tonks nodded slowly. The addition of some mystery seemed to give her something to hold onto, a way to keep going even though she was – he couldn't quite think it. "Are – so you're a former companion, then?"

"No," River said, chuckling. "Not quite. Our timelines don't match, see, and things get – difficult if we spend too much time together. Speaking of which," she turned back to him, "where are we?"

The Doctor rubbed one eye, sitting down heavily on the rubbish bin again. "It's complicated."

She sat on the ground, still grinning. She dressed like she was from the 21st century: sturdy hiking boots, plain jeans, a solid beige shirt underneath a longer, dark brown, fitted coat, and a gun belt. "We've _done_ complicated. Where are we?"

He sighed. Where were they? Well, after the Library for him, and before the Library for her, obviously. The last time he'd met her, she'd _died_. How was he supposed to deal with her now? "I – I've met you before," he said haltingly. "Later in your timeline. I don't know anything about you, other than your name – and profession. Rank. Whatever. Not where you come from, or when. Not how I know you. Not _who_ you are. Just that you're someone important to me and –" He hesitated, looking up at her. "And I'm important to you."

For the first time, River looked slightly fazed. "Ah," she said quietly. "Early days, then." She pulled one leg up to her chest, forcing eye contact with him. "I could leave, dear. If you like."

There was a part of him – there was an uncomfortably _large_ part of him – that wanted to say yes, that wanted her away, her uncomfortableness, and her not being dead, and her having two hearts and _no explanation_ and not quite being a Time Lord, because she wasn't _there_, but she wasn't human and she should be, and sending her away would solve all this. Except – "No. You can't."

Her smirk returned. "A simple 'no' would have sufficed, sweetie. You don't have to get all commanding." Her eyes twinkled again. "Not that I mind."

Tonks let out a huff of shock.

The Doctor's eyes widened, and he leaned forward. "Moving a bit fast, aren't you?"

River stared at him for a moment, and then broke out into laughter. "You're _very _different this regeneration. Much more forward."

"I don't think I'm supposed to know that," he pointed out, standing up again. "Besides, the point wasn't that I don't _want_ you to leave. The point was that you _can't_ leave."

She sobered again, looking up at him, an arm wrapped around her upright leg. "Why?"

He paced forward, turned, and stopped, staring sadly past his TARDIS. "The Time Vortex is gone. There's no power source for your little gadget," he gestured wildly at her wrist, not caring if he came anywhere near, "to lock onto. If you'd left when I'd said, you could have followed your original pathway back out, but now – not a chance."

River stood, hooking her thumbs in her belt loops. "Doctor, I trust you to the ends of the Earth, but I need a little bit more explanation. You sent me to help you," she said flatly. "Why would you do that if you knew I wouldn't get out?"

_Because I get people killed. That's what happens to people who love me, River, they _die_, and I lead them straight to it. I sent you here to die for reasons of my own –_

_I have a future._

He spun, grinning at River. "That's – oh, I am _brilliant_!" Hands in his hair, he twirled in a circle. "I have a future!" he yelled at the skies. "I get out again!"

River twisted her lips in a faint smile. "No wonder you've been a bit off, if you thought you were going to die. So what's the plan?"

The Doctor shook his head, still beaming. "Dunno yet. _Well_," he corrected hastily, "you're going to regenerate. While you're doing that, I'll work something out. Tonks," he said, abruptly sobering, "I'm sorry. This isn't going to help you. There _isn't_ a way to help you anymore, barring a miracle. And I am so, so sorry for that."

Tonks nodded, swallowing. "I – I understand. Thank you." She smiled bravely up at him, and he returned it.

River cleared her throat. "Doctor – can I talk to you?" She jerked her head to the side, in the way that usually added _somewhere private_.

He raised an eyebrow. "What's wrong with Tonks hearing?"

Crossing her arms over her chest, she levelled a glare at him. "For _once_, sweetie, could you just listen to me?" Her tone was ever so slightly panicked, as if she was holding onto her stability with both hands, although he couldn't imagine what he had done to set her off.

He winced. "Fine." Walking down the street, he listened to her footsteps behind him. At the next corner – still in eyesight, but out of earshot, of Tonks – he stopped and turned. "What is it?" he asked brusquely, ready to begin planning an escape route.

Shifting her weight, River glanced down before making eye contact again. "Whatever plan you have to get us out of here won't work."

The Doctor frowned, attention abruptly focused on her. "Why not?"

River bit her tongue, before glancing off to the side. "I can't regenerate."

"What?" He blinked, tilting his head. "No, no, no, wait, hold on – yes, you can. I don't know what I've told you, and I'm sorry if you don't know this, but you have two hearts. You're about 4.9% away from being a proper Time Lord, you're close enough to regenerate. I don't know what you are, but you _can_ regenerate."

She shook her head. "I know, Doctor. I'm out."

Blood drained from his face. "No. You went through – all of them?"

"Yeah," she said quietly. "Things happened, events got out of control. I – I'm all out. Can't regenerate. So you'd better have another plan up your sleeve, Doctor, because this one isn't going to work."

The Doctor groaned. He'd been so _close_, so _perilously _close to getting them out, and she couldn't regenerate! "Okay, okay, okay, I can work with this, I can – we need to talk. Come on." He ran back down the street, headed back to Tonks.

Snorting, River followed, keeping up with him easily. That was something he remembered from the Library – she could move with him.

He came to a stop in front of Tonks, straightening his jacket absently. "Right. So, we've got a problem."

River smiled. "We've got _many_ problems, dear. Let's start with why you're so upset."

Well, yes, there was that. He didn't want to talk about it, didn't want to _deal_ with the problems that he was facing, was much more interested in keeping everyone – or as many as possible – safe and alive and getting them all out of this disaster. The Doctor sighed, looking straight at River. "The Time Vortex is gone."

She raised an eyebrow. "I got _that_. Why is it gone?"

And here they were at the questions he didn't really want to answer. "It – there's a weapon," he said awkwardly, suddenly avoiding her gaze. "Again. Sorry, Tonks. A weapon – well, sort of a weapon. It's more like a weapon than anything else."

Tonks paled. "From the Time War? And – and what's going to happen to me?"

He took a deep breath, turning away. "Yes. And I don't know."

River stepped forward and touched his shoulder gently. "Are you alright?" Her hand rested on his shoulder, her body temperature higher than his but slightly lower than a humans'.

"No," he muttered quietly, faint enough that only River should hear it – not Tonks. "So there's a weapon," he said louder, "that's eaten the Time Vortex, and it's going to kill the two of you unless I can pull off some sort of a miracle. Which – which isn't looking likely right now."

He took a deep breath, trying to pull things together. "River – I need you to tell me everything you can about why I sent you."

River sighed, stroking his shoulder. "There's not much, I'm afraid. I was travelling with him, after," her voice broke and she paused, "after his former companions left. Just – filling time, helping him through."

The Doctor made a noncommittal noise. "Him?"

She laughed, somewhat bitterly. "I've got to keep the two of you separate. He's_ my_ Doctor, the one who knows everything about me. You're _the_ Doctor."

He tried not to twitch too visibly, settling for a raised eyebrow. "Go on."

Turning him gently, River looked into his eyes and smiled. "He asked me to come help you. He said that you needed me. He gave me a set of coordinates and said I wouldn't need any special equipment, and here I am."

The Doctor grunted. "No explanation, no – no hints?"

At the slight shake of her head, he turned away again. Her hand returned to his shoulder. "Even if I knew, sweetie," she whispered into his ear, "I wouldn't tell you."

He wrapped his arms around himself, looking down. "Well, that's fine then. Glad to know what I've got to do."

Tonks cleared her throat, scuffing one foot against the ground. "What does it do – the weapon, what is it?"

The Doctor shuddered just from the thought. Walking away from River, he leaned against a building, staring blankly down the street. "It's the Nightmare Child."

"Oh," River said softly.

Tonks' foot hit the side of the rubbish bin with a clang. "I don't know who that is."

The Doctor spun, shoving his hands in his pockets. "It's not a _who_, it's a _what_. And a who, sort of. It's a virus," he said, trying to ignore the memories. "It's a sentient virus."

Tonks made a low, shuddering noise before stepping closer to him. "So what – I'm going to get sick and die? How long?"

"That kind of bravery, should have been in Gryffindor," he told the pavement dully, not wanting to share the truth.

Somehow she ended up in front of him, he wasn't sure how, looking up into his face. "Doctor. Don't avoid the question. How long?"

He couldn't keep from jerking away, gaze sweeping across the broken pavement, an infinity of cracks leading into the distance. "I don't know."

"You don't know how long and you don't know what's going to happen," Tonks snapped. "Is there anything you _do_ know?"

The Doctor stared at her, lips peeling back from his teeth. "Yes," he snarled, "I know what it will look like when you die. I know what I will feel when I look at your empty body because I have _been_ there before, I have _watched_ people I –" He stopped himself, taking several deep breaths. "There is no hope. You _will_ die, and be it sooner or later, it will not be pleasant. For anyone."

She took a step backward, and then steadied. A part of him was proud of her, for that. "So what's the point? Why are we still fighting? Why not just shoot me now?"

"I don't – I don't shoot –" He stared down at her blankly, attention caught by her question. Why didn't he? He sighed, eyes wide and hollow and blank. "Because there may still be hope. Or maybe I've just gone mad. I don't know anymore."

"Doctor," River said slowly, "we're going to need a little bit more information. That means _details_, Doctor."

He spun to glare at her, breathing shortly. "The Nightmare Child is a sentient _plague, _but you'd do better to think of it as a hive of bees. There is a central consciousness, but the real danger is from the airborne hordes. Millions upon millions of microscopic viruses, each semi-conscious, each targeted to any living thing it can find. The central mind controls all of them, only arriving for the largest, most complex meals. Once you breathe in the air on a planet it's infected, you're effectively dead. The viruses have entered your system, and it's simply a matter of waiting for them to take effect."

The words spilled out of him, a diatribe of hate and self-loathing in the form of a formulaic response – how typical. "The TARDIS has the same problem," he continued casually, "because now they're inside her as well. She's shut herself down and gone into hibernation so they can't get to her consciousness. Right now she is nothing more than a very complex computer."

River nodded, looking up at him gently. "I've heard the tales, but never gotten an actual description. Thank you."

His eyes narrowed sharply. "What tales? From who? There were no survivors, there never have been. Who told you?"

_A survivor? Other than me? Someone else who got away, someone else who can stand here and support me, because I'm not sure I can take these losses anymore._

She shook her head. "It's not what you're thinking. The records you keep in the TARDIS. The details from the Time War were a little – lacking, to say the least."

His hearts sank. "Oh." A pause. "You read that?" And unsaid, but still heard: _I let you?_ _I trust you that much?_

"Yes," River said quietly, smiling. "Yes, I did."

Hate flashed through him, hate stronger than he had felt in years. "Then why do you still follow me?" he spat. "I _kill_ people, didn't you learn that? If you've read all those, you should know: I bring _death_. I'm not the saviour you make me out to be."

She reached out for him yet again; this time he pulled away. River sighed. "Sweetie –"

"_Don't_," he snarled, turning. "You have no right to call me that." Taking a deep breath, he forced his emotions back under control, pacing away to stand next to a building. One hand rested on the wall as he leaned forward, staring listlessly at the ground.

Tonks followed him, stopping a few paces back. "You hurt her."

He tracked a dead vine from its furthest branch back to the root. "Yes," he said blankly. "That's what I do. Hurt people." He paused. "Not intentionally," he clarified, unsure why he was doing it. "It just – happens."

"Apologize," Tonks said flatly. "I don't know who she is to you, and I don't particularly care either. But both of us are going to die here, if you've got any idea what you're talking about, and as shitty as you've got to be feeling right now, imagine how we're doing."

The Doctor swallowed hard. Right. Yes. That was – a very good point. "Yeah," he whispered. Hands awkwardly in his pockets, he walked back to River. "Sorry," he said to a point somewhere above her shoulder.

River gave him a look of disbelief. "You don't apologize, generally."

"No." He looked down. "Tonks wanted me to."

She laughed shakily. "That _is _normal. Now what?"

The air crackled again, just like it had before River appeared. He stepped back more calmly this time, frowning. The number of people with a vortex manipulator in either universe was short, and most of them were accounted for.


	58. The Possibilities, III

**A/N: You're all wrong, by the way. Not a single one of you guessed our new arrival. No, it's not Jack, and it never was going to **_**be**_** Jack, for a lot of reasons that I'll explain in this chapter. *sigh***

**Thanks to: Paul, Stellarsong, Ptroxsora, Frog's princess, EmeraldWings90, FlyingLovegood123, Ashlee Pond, Uryuu-Nipaa, Eclipse Wing, Iamthe42, Jimbobob5536, and LilyLunaPotter142. 600****th**** reviewer gets a one-shot; Jimbobob5536 and Windarian, I'll start working on yours as soon as this is finished (probably this coming week).**

**Fun Fact of the Day: The Master has been played by 6 different actors, but in-universe he's on his second set of regenerations; after running out of the first, he convinced the Time Lords to give him another set.**

* * *

A short, brunet man appeared, a once-immaculate suit dusty and torn, with a music player in one hand. He used that hand to flip shut a vortex manipulator on his other arm, which ended abruptly above the wrist. Looking up at the Doctor, he grinned suddenly. "I need your TARDIS."

The Doctor blinked, utterly stunned. "Master?"

"You look stunned every time I show up," the Master commented dryly. "Sign of a small mind."

River moved quickly, aiming her blaster at the other Time Lord. "Unlike some, I see no problem with your death."

That caught the Doctor's attention, pulling him away from his staring at the Master. "Don't. River – don't."

Glancing at him, she nodded and lowered her gun. "Fine. But I don't like you," she told the Master, "and I never have. And unlike _him_, I don't mind a little bit of death."

The Master grinned, his eyes casually flicking over River. "You're new. Wonder how he got a hold of you instead of me. Seems like you're more my type."

River holstered her gun, laughing. "No."

"Why – no," the Doctor caught himself, "_how_ are you here?" He wasn't normally the person to bring things back on topic, but it looked like he would have to.

The Master ignored this, eyes going over the Doctor's shoulder. "Ah, and the girlie's here. Your freak's a bit busy, by the way," he added nonchalantly, smile slipping a bit. "Keeps dying. Over and over and over," the Master twirled one finger, "he barely comes back before he's dying again. I didn't see a point."

_Jack._

_I failed you._

_Again._

Shoving the thoughts back, the Doctor frowned. "A point to what? Master, how are you _here_?"

Smile returning, the Master raised the music player. "A sufficiently complex computer can store anything. And while this may not have been designed for it, it is sufficiently complex. A few simple alterations, and voila!"

The Doctor crossed his arms, raising an eyebrow. "You're not explaining anything."

"Pot," River muttered.

The Master flipped the music player end over end in his hand. "I saw no reason for the Corsair to regenerate. I removed his mind, and inserted it here."

River frowned; the Doctor physically _flinched_.

"_There's a neural relay in the communicator. Lets you send thought mail. That's it there. Those green lights. Sometimes it can hold an impression of a living consciousness for a short time after death. Like an afterimage."_

"Like ghosting?" River asked, looking curious – and cautious.

The Doctor swallowed. "Close enough. Do you –" He waved a hand absently.

"_Oh, look at that. I'm very good!"_

"_What have you done?"_

"_Saved her."_

The Master shrugged. "A body of suitable age and stability. Shouldn't be too hard to find, once we get out."

Shoving down the memories, the Doctor forced himself to make eye contact. "Why haven't you regenerated?"

Grinning broadly, the Master raised his false hand. "You, actually. Remember that hand you got lopped off? I did the same thing after regenerating, only intentional. Stole Jackie-boy's container to put it in, saw no need to redesign my own. Then, after the Child arrived, I let it take me. Died, began to regenerate, drove it out, and vented the energy to my hand. I'm immune now. Just like you."

The Doctor made a soft groan. "Yeah," he said quietly. "Yeah."

"Doctor," Tonks put in, stepping closer. "How is he immune? What did he do?"

The Master laughed. "Go ahead, Doctor, explain _diseases_ to her. Isn't that what you're supposed to do,_ cure_ people?"

He drew a deep breath in, letting it flow through his tubes, before exhaling it all. "The – the Nightmare Child – once you've had it, your body can adapt. You can develop a defence to it. But – but you have. to die first. Only Time Lords can survive, really. Because you die – it kills you, it kills everything. And we – we – we regenerate. And our new body has the adaptation. It's learned how to defeat the virus. What – what the Master did was a bit of a trick, really. He regenerated just enough to adapt, but not enough to change."

Tonks nodded, wrapping her arms over her chest. "And Jack?"

_Dead dead dead dead dead my fault he's dead it's all my fault it's always my fault._

"Because – because of why Jack is immortal," _Rose_, "his body never changes. He _can't_ make that adaptation. He just – dies." He couldn't make eye contact, it was all his fault and all he would see in their eyes was condemnation, and he _couldn't _ take that right now, not when he had to save River at the _very_ least, and possibly also himself, he _knew_ he deserved it, but he couldn't deal with it right now, and that just meant he deserved it more.

The Master cleared his throat. "You are avoiding the point, and _some _of us, at least," he waved the music player again, "are running out of time. I need your TARDIS key."

The Doctor blinked, raising an eyebrow. "Why can't you use the Corsair's?"

That seemed to stall the Master; his eyes flickered away from the Doctor and he shifted his weight slightly. "I – ah – can't find it."

The Doctor blinked. "It's a _boat_, it shouldn't be that hard to find. Did you try Bristol?"

"_Yes_, I tried Bristol," the Master said, exasperated. "I think he cloaked it."

Rubbing the back of his neck, the Doctor gave the other Time Lord a sceptical look. "How do you _lose_ a TARDIS?"

The Master rolled his eyes. "Can I just have your key?"

"The Time Vortex is gone," the Doctor said flatly, finally making eye contact again. "And my TARDIS is in hibernation. You'll have to go back to the root programming and override all of her higher functions."

Another eye roll. "I have flown a TARDIS before. Surprisingly enough, I've also flown an unwilling one. It's not like this will be much different."

The Doctor struggled to hang onto his fraying temper. "You have not done this before. You have done _nothing_ like this before. This is a situation unlike _anything_ you have ever been in, and dismissing it is not going to help."

The Master visibly bristled. "You're not my House; don't you _dare _talk to me like that."

Shocked, a little, the Doctor grinned. "You should _hope_ I'm not related."

For a second, Koschei shone through. The Master smiled back, eyes happy before his face shut down again. "Back on topic," he said shortly. "TARDIS key." He paused, eyes glancing to the side. "You're welcome to come. _Not_ the humans. But – if you want."

"The Nightmare Child is still inside," the Doctor cautioned. "You'll infect wherever you land."

This got him a pair of raised eyebrows. "The consciousness won't be inside, and that's what matters," the Master snapped. "Without the consciousness, it's deadly, but it can't grow. All I need to do is vent the air someplace nasty, and I'm good. Even I know that," he added with a nasty smirk, "and I'm not the one who invented it."

Any hope he had once had at holding onto his temper vanished. "That was not me," he growled lowly, "I was not the one behind that weapon."

River frowned. "You've done it before," she said quietly. "To be fair to him, how was he to know? It's not the worst –"

He spun on her, the pain of this betrayal overriding any feelings about her sacrifice. "How _dare_ you say that. I don't _care_ if you've seen the schematics for the Paradox Bomb, this is a _thousand_ times worse. _This_ is the weapon that would have ended the War. _This_ is the reason I destroyed Gallifrey. _This _weapon, _this _plague and nothing else, is why I _killed_ them, why I left them dying in another universe."

To his shock, River squared her jaw and stepped closer to him. No one stood up to him when he got this upset, it was why he didn't do it often, because he terrified the people he – he cared about, but River didn't seem to mind. "I know, dear. That's why I reminded you. Because you know what? The disease would have been _worse_ than the cure. And sometimes you forget that."

His throat closed up as he stared blankly at her. "Yeah. I guess."

She laughed, shaking her head. "You adorable _idiot_. Here's a spoiler for you: I'm going to spend the rest of my life fixing your little self-esteem problem."

"Cut the flirting," the Master snapped. "The key. Now."

With a sigh, the Doctor pulled the TARDIS key out of his jacket. "You shouldn't go. The Nightmare Child – it's tricky. You weren't there, you didn't meet it –"

The Master rolled his eyes, snatching the key out of the Doctor's hand. "It is a _virus_. Without the consciousness, there's no danger."

"Careful what you say, Master," River drawled, eyes glinting. "You might get a little more than you're planning for."

He cocked an eyebrow at her. "I am a Time Lord. You are nothing like. You are a _mockery_, you are a perversion. You are not worthy to say my _name_. I don't know why he keeps you around, you are an impossibility worse than the immortal human. You _disgust _me." Turning, he swaggered towards the Doctor's TARDIS. Jamming the key in the lock, he shot a wink and a half smile to the Doctor before swinging the doors open and swirling into the TARDIS.

The doors slammed behind him. Within seconds, there came the sound of the TARDIS taking off. She disappeared soon after.

The Doctor stared blankly at the space where his TARDIS used to be, wondering where things had gone so wrong.

"Doctor," River said quietly, "I need explanations."

He waved a hand, staring into space. "We're stuck. You're going to die. I won't. What more of an explanation do you need?"

River touched her hand to his shoulder; he pulled away restlessly. "You could have gone with them."

"No, I couldn't." He ran a hand through his hair, collapsing gracelessly on the ground. "Not and leave the two of you behind."

Tonks stepped closer to him. "If we – we're going to die anyway –"

He stood up, turning blank, dead eyes on her. "No."

"Doctor, I don't want to do this." River's hand hovered near her gun belt. "But as much as I trust you – and I _do_, I trust you to the end of the universe and back, 'cause we've _been_ – I need a little more information, 'cause if it's all the same to you I'd really rather not die there. So. Doctor. Will you talk now?"

The Doctor barely glanced at her. "Professor River Song, if you pull that gun on me, you will never see the inside of my TARDIS, timelines or no."

River sighed deeply. "I tried. Remember that, I tried." She paused for a moment, hands probably resting on the gun belt. He knew that much about her, that she would never want a gun to be far away. He wasn't sure how he felt about that. "_, explain the situation to me."

He tensed, the syllables rippling across his nerves. There was a reason Time Lords didn't share their names, and there was a reason dozens of cultures across the universe had stories about the power of true names. Even nice, typical, _normal_ Time Lords like Romana had another name they didn't use. The price for viewing Time at will was tying his mind to it, winding himself deeper and deeper until a single tug, a short collection of syllables would yank his entire thread.

"In the centre of the system is a level three star known to locals as the Sun, it's about five billion years old and expected to last another five." The Doctor let the words spill out. It hadn't been the first time someone had used his name against him, and the odds were good it wouldn't be the last. There were tricks to this, ways to get around the name pulling at him, trying to force him to answer her question, it was easy to slide sideways along the compulsion and evade it, giving her everything but what she wanted.

"Three planetary bodies are inhabited, the third planet, the fourth planet, and the sixth moon of the sixth planet. We are currently on the third planet, known to inhabitants as Earth, in the northern hemisphere, on the fifth –"

River stepped into his line of view. "That's not what I wanted. And you know that." She took a deep breath, slowly exhaling. "I don't want to do this. But what you don't know about me, Doctor, not yet, is that I _cannot_ function with missing information." She looked down, one hand restlessly clenching and unclenching on her gun. "I asked nicely. Now I'm asking – not nicely. Where is the Nightmare Child from, and how did it get here?"

He clenched his teeth, straining against the compulsion. He lost, of course, he was bound to lose, but he tried. "The Nightmare Child was a weapon designed for use in the Time War. It was released in the last battle. The Time Lords created it. It came here through an accident." He shut his mouth tightly.

The memories broiled beneath the surface, straining to come up again. He shoved them down, to no great success.

"_I – they had to use a planet to test it on." Romana's eyes, huge and brown in this body, staring at him, pleading for him to understand._

"_And they had to pick _Earth_?"_

"_It was out of the way. It wasn't involved in the war, we could raise a Lock and not run the risk of the disease escaping."_

"_Call it what it is – a nightmare."_

"_Doctor –"_

"_You have your weapon. I don't want to talk to you again."_

"Doctor."

"_We have no other choice."_

"_That's what you said about Arcadia."_

"_We didn't."_

"_I could have invented something else."_

"_Not in the time we had. And we're getting off track."_

"_Damnit."_

"_You made a joke there."_

"_If I can't find something to laugh at, Romana, I _will_ die."_

"_We have to release it again."_

"_The _universe_ is at stake this time. You would destroy all that -?"_

"_Dying now or dying under the Daleks, which would you prefer?"_

"_The Daleks."_

"How did it escape the Time Lock?"

"_We have hours until the Daleks arrive."_

"_Let them come."_

"_Rassilon is planning to release it, your vote or no."_

"_Why do you care?"_

"_Your negative vote –"_

"_Won't mean a thing. He'll release it anyway, you know that."_

"_Do you have a plan?"_

"_What for?"_

"_A way out."_

"_It's over. We lost. There is no way out, not anymore."_

"_What happened to your 'boundless optimism'?"_

"_A child – a nightmare."_

"Doctor, answer me!"

"Doctor, what's wrong? What's going on?"

"_It's over."_

_Romana's sightless eyes stared at the burning sky._

"_I told you."_

_His TARDIS, battered but not broken._

"_I'm the only one left – the only living thing in the universe. It should feel different."_

_The world spinning around him as he yanked Time into place._

"_I'm not letting you win this one. Not by a long shot."_

_Golden at the edges of his eyes. Black in front but gold at the sides._

"_I am the Doctor, and I declare this war to be over!"_

"_, how did the Nightmare Child escape the Time Lock?"

The world snapped back into place around him, leaving him gasping, staring at River. The compulsion tore at his frayed mind, driving him towards an answer he was not ready to confront. "What do you know about Time Locks?" he responded instead, trying to shove the memories away. They wouldn't go.

"_Earth is behind a Lock now. I'm sorry. It's for everyone's own good."_

"Enough to understand whatever you will tell me, but not enough to get by on my own."

Who said that? He blinked, eyes catching only blond hair – Romana? Or River? "A Time Lock is exactly what it sounds like," he said, letting the words flow, letting the rote answer come out because he couldn't bear to think about the rest of it. "You take a physical location, an area in _space_ and isolate it from the rest of time. A Time Lock is permanent and irrevocable, but it's also limited. An area can be Locked for centuries or millennia, but there is a start and end point, and a time traveller can still access the area on either side of the Lock. They just can't jump into the middle."

"_You can still visit them."_

"_Do you know how many fixed points you _violated_ by choosing _Earth_? There are a thousand, a _million_ other planets you could have used, but no, you had to hurt _me_. And that always means Earth."_

The woman in front of him tilted her head. "But that's not what happened to the Time War."

"No," he agreed placidly, ignoring everything but the fabric of the brown coat she was wearing. If he stared at that, the rest of the world would fade away.

She sighed. "Doctor, what's wrong? Even for you, this is spacey."


	59. The Possibilities, IV

**Doctor Who, Special Series; Episode 14: The Possibilities**

**A/N: IT'S DONE! Weaken the Lock is now completely written, start to finish. I'll finish editing the last two episodes within the next week or so, but the majority of the work is **_**done**_**. So, since it's now all over, I'm thinking about moving updates up to every other day, from twice a week. Thoughts?**

**Windarian and Jimbobob5536, I have begun work on your Wholock. Ashlee Pond, your whatever is going to wait a bit.**

**IMPORTANT NOTE: Spoilers ahead for the **_**entirety**_** of River's story line. You have been warned.**

**Thanks to: Ptroxsora, HermitsUnited87, JoojooBrother, Paul, Windarian, Stellarsong, Uryuu-Nipaa, Eclipse Wing, FlyingLovegood123, Ashlee Pond, LilyLunaPotter142, and Jimbobob5536.**

**Fun Fact of the Day: Nick Briggs voices the Nestene Consciousness, Daleks, Cybermen, Judoon, and the Ice Warriors. Note that this makes the infamous Dalek-Cybermen confrontation in series 2 entirely about Nick yelling at himself.**

* * *

He blinked hard, forcing his eyes to focus – blue-grey-green eyes. Romana had never had eyes like that. "River," he said in some surprise. "I –" He exhaled, shuddering. He had to trust her, even when she was using his name, she was being kind, trying to help, trying to figure things out, he understood that, he had to trust her because she trusted him. "Memories."

"_You will remember this day, Doctor, for this is the day that we shall take our rightful place as rulers!"_

River nodded. "I know, Doctor, believe me, I _know_, and I swear that I will never, _ever_ use your name to hurt you. I swear it."

The Doctor swallowed, trying to sort out layers of time. Old River, young River, a black girl, a child, River in her spacesuit, a thousand thousand universes where River never existed – and only one of them was standing in front of him, here, now. "Yes," he said faintly.

"But I need answers."

"_Why won't you help us?"_

Hand on his face, a hot human/not human hand.

His eyes focused on the hand, tracing the line of her vein back up to her neck before he was able to look up and meet her eyes.

"Doctor," the word came from the lips belonging to the hand, "answer now or later?"

"_You can help us now, or you can help us later, Doctor, but either way, you _will_ join in the battle."_

Breathing in made the world tilt around him. Answer now and make the memories worse, or answer later and bring them back. "Now," he said firmly, trying to focus enough to provide a name.

"River? What's wrong with him?"

"Have you heard of a disease called Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder?"

"Oh."

"He's been through more than most, and usually he's strong enough to carry it. But I'm asking him about events he hasn't ever dealt with, and even for him, that's hard."

Fingertips moved gently down his jawline. He blinked and saw a face. "River."

"Yes, sweetie." The face nodded. "Just a few more questions, you can do this."

He nodded, because it seemed like the right thing to do. The world was swimming, and he had to choose a port. As with everything, Time Lords were better at dealing with mental disorders – until a point, when they were spectacularly worse. His Time sense was off, he couldn't tell what was past and present and future, what was real and what was a reality that never happened, which person in his mind was alive and which was dead and which had never existed.

He had to choose a port – and he chose. "R –" The word choked in his throat and he had to try again. "River. You. I –" _Choose_ wasn't the right verb, but he couldn't remember why. "Trust. You. I trust you."

His eyes snapped into focus, looking directly at – and seeing, really _seeing_ – River's for the first time in a while. He didn't know how long. That wasn't normal. Breathing heavily, he refused to break eye contact with her. "I trust you."

River smiled, stress melting away from her face. There was someone else there, but he could only have one port, could only manage to hold onto one thing, and he chose River. "That's good, Doctor, that's good. Can you still see me?"

He clenched his teeth, waiting for the emotions to leave his senses alone. "I'm insane, River, not stupid."

"Sometimes," River muttered under her breath.

The Doctor stuck his tongue out at her.

She laughed. "Oh, that's very mature. Okay – questions."

Right. The bit he had been ignoring because the memories were beginning to slip away again and he could focus. "Yes."

"What sort of Time Lock is the Time War behind?" she asked, enunciating each word carefully.

He didn't have the concentration to tell her that she didn't need to talk slowly, that it wasn't his ears that were compromised. Besides, Romana was talking again, and he had to pay some attention to her. "A new one. The regular ones wouldn't work, because time travellers would still be able to get out, and – and I was trying to imprison two races of them." It was easier to speak when he could pretend it had happened to someone else, in another lifetime. In a way, it had.

"_You would destroy us?"_

"_And the Daleks – you can't forget those, since they're supposedly what this war is about."_

River nodded. "That's good, but what's different? What exactly did you do?"

He froze, shuddering, and pulled away. "I – I _can't_." The words were horse, pulled from his throat as he tried to ignore the compulsion because this thing he _couldn't_ do, he couldn't tell anyone else what he had done, that was a secret too big to share with anyone.

"Deep breaths, Doctor, who are you talking to?"

He frowned. "You, of course."

A laugh. "I know, but who am I?"

"Professor River Song," he said instantly. "I know who you are."

She smiled at him. "Good. Okay, what makes the Lock on the Time War different from an ordinary Time Lock?"

Good. A specific question. One he could answer. He liked that, it was another thing he could hold onto. "The Lock I – I put the Time War behind covers all of time. Gallifrey is no longer accessible. At all. There is no way around. Gallifrey, the nine planets, Skaro, every planet the war touched – all gone. There is no way in or out of that Lock."

"Then how did the Nightmare Child get out?"

He blinked, pulling up equations he hadn't thought about in years. "The – the Lock was so complete that anything behind it became, essentially, a new universe. A bubble, so to speak, off of our own. Connected, yet inaccessible. And because of a lot of very bizarre coincidences, that bubble almost touches this universe. The one we're in right now." He paused, waving a hand.

"When I – I was running," he said, "I was – ah – not in my right frame of mind," talking helped for some reason, it helped him centre. The only person who was real was the one those words were directed to, and since there was only one person it _could_ be directed to, he had to be talking to River. That was good. "I slammed through universes. Tore a hole from our universe to this one. And –" He froze, shaking, the realization slamming into him.

"_It's all your fault, isn't it? It's _always_ your fault."_

River _hmned_, running her hand down his cheek. "Tell me, _, what did you just realize?"

He let the compulsion take him because he didn't care anymore. Turning wide eyes on her, he whispered, "I grazed through the Time War. The Lock is open."

"Bloody fucking hell," River said at volume. "This is the _real_ Nightmare Child, then."

That sentence was easy enough to read. "It – it's not from a dream. It's real."

River shook her head. "Bugger. One more thing, Doctor, one more thing and then it's all your game again – How does the Nightmare Child _work_?"

The Doctor sighed, leaning into River's hand. "I told you. It's a virus."

"_Doctor_," she groaned. "And how does the virus work?"

He took a deep shuddering breath. "It eats. It eats and eats and eats and you beg for it to stop, you lie there on the ground begging for something, anything, because anything is better than the pain and the terror and the _hell_. It makes you live through hell, and until you've been through it, you cannot understand what it is."

"_Romana, I can't!"_

"_Please, no, please, I'll do anything, I'll do whatever you want, just _make it stop_!"_

"_Romana!"_

"_Grace? Doctor Grace Holloway, please, if you can hear me – you can't be dead, not you too."_

"_Help! I can't – it's moving too fast I won't be able – it's going to kill me and then what will you do? You need –_ aargh_! Help me! I can't – I'm going to die –"_

"Koschei_! You said you'd protect me. You _promised_, you bastard, you _swore_ you'd be there. Ah!"_

"_It won't stop, the pain, Koschei, I can't feel anything but pain."_

"_. Listen to me. I know this is hard for you, I know. And I know you're having problems focusing on anything but me right now, but Tonks is having problems and I need to know how to help her."

The Doctor gasped, eyes snapping into focus on River. His pain nerves calmed down and the adrenaline began to recede. "Tonks."

River nodded, moving her hand from his cheek to his shoulder. "The disease is beginning to affect her. I sent her to sit down while you were blanking , _, what is it doing to her?"

_No, no, no, no, I can't lose another one!_

"It – it's a causality plague." He had to take another deep breath before he could continue. "The Time Lords invented it, it wasn't going to work normally. It alters your cells. They're still stuck running along time – fourth dimension, 'member – but it plays havoc with the causality portion. Your cells still work, but they're working," he waved a hand, "odd. What are her symptoms right now?"

River paled, her eyes widening. "She's hyperventilating. Not all of the air she inhales makes it into her bloodstream. I suspect that most of it doesn't. She's had a couple muscle spasms, and her eyes can't focus anymore."

He nodded, shaking so hard it was difficult to stand. "She's not too far along, then. Probably fifteen more minutes before it'll be best for you to use that gun."

She nodded, face tightening. "That bad, eh? And me?"

_No. You can't!_

The Doctor stared at her, one hand reaching up to clench onto her wrist. "No. _No!_" The shattered remnants of his mind protested, beginning to shape a plan together, just the gem of an idea.

River raised her other hand and wrapped it around his. "Alright, now what's wrong?"

"I – you can't." He didn't articulate any more than that, couldn't risk giving it all away.

She had to die at the Library, that had been a fixed point, which meant she couldn't die here. But the Nightmare Child wasn't just a causality plague, that was what it _ate_ and it loved nothing better than a paradox. And River was the biggest damn paradox there was if she died twice, once in each universe.

Dropping her hand, he pulled away, breathing raggedly. "Alright, River, I'm good. Do you trust me?" He had a plan, it was a brilliant plan but if they didn't trust him unconditionally –

She looked him in the eyes. "Doctor, you were post-traumatic and phasing five minutes ago. Are you sure you're ready to do this?"

He had a plan. He had a plan. He could get River out of this. He had a plan. It violated half his rules, but he had a plan. "Yes. River, do you trust me?"

For a long, heartswrenching moment, she hesitated. "Always," she said finally. "Always, Doctor."

"Good," he said, smiling. "Walk down to the intersection and kneel in the middle, facing away from us. Now – I know this street is empty, but there might be corpses down there. _Don't_ look at them, you got that, River? You_ cannot_ look at the bodies. Don't look at the bodies, don't look at us – it might be easiest if you close your eyes."

River nodded, smiling herself. "Glad to have you back, Doctor." She turned and began to walk down the street.

His head snapped up, eyebrows drawing in. "No – wait! River, I also need your gun."

She froze for half a second, and then turned, pulling her blaster out and handing it, hilt first, to him. "I already knew it was bad. You don't need to prove it to me."

He took the gun, fingers wrapping restlessly around it. "Go," he said quietly. After a second, he added, "Thanks."

River laughed, waggling her fingers at him as she swaggered off down the street.

Smiling at her, the Doctor turned to Tonks who was, as promised, sitting up against a building. "Tonks, Tonks dear, you see me?" Only halfway paying attention to Tonks, he fumbled the gun into his inside jacket pocket.

Hair brown and lank, she looked fuzzily up at him. "Yeah, Doctor." She paused, frowning. "I'm fine, thanks."

"Are you okay –" He sighed. Talking with someone infected with the Nightmare Child was a job and a half. "Now, Tonks, I have a plan, but it depends on you, okay?"

Tonks made a jerking motion with her head, one arm flailing out. "Yes," she slurred. "I can still get into it."

One eyebrow shot up. "I need you to go into Grimmauld Place – I'm pretty sure you can still get in, right?" He paused an appropriate length of time and nodded slowly. "That's good. Now. Somewhere in that house is a model of a ship, and I need you to find it and bring it out to me. Got that?"

"Is there supposed to be a deadlock on the inside of the door?" Tonks asked faintly.

The Doctor blinked _hard_. "Right, um, up you get. Tonks, _look at me_."

Her eyes, blue now, snap focused on his. "I see you."

"Good." He grabbed her shoulders. "This is _the_ most important thing you will ever do, Tonks. I need you to focus and control your body as best you can, and I _know_ how hard it is to work through this, but _try_. Okay? Stand up, Tonks, just stand up."

She nodded, blinked, and nodded again. "Yes." Clenching her teeth, she stood, one leg shaking. "Door."

He smiled. "Good girl. Alright, I'm going to talk you through this, but I need you to be the one to touch everything, got that? We're going after the Corsair's TARDIS, and if he has any sense, he'll have trapped it for a Time Lord's touch. You'll need to carry it outside for me, and I really need you to be strong."

Tonks turned and wobbled her way to Number 12, Grimmauld Place. Twisting the door handle, she leaned against the door. It refused to budge. She threw him a look, fists clenching and unclenching rapidly.

The Doctor put up a grin, not entirely sure why. "Don't worry, Tonks, I've got a _screwdriver_." He pulled it out of his pocket, pointing it at the door. Click-_whirr_. "Should be good to go, now."

She nodded, shoving the door open. "You coming in?"

He blinked, crossing the street, doing his best not to look at the animal corpses scattered on the ground. "River?" he called, pitching his voice to carry.

Her sigh was audible at this distance. "Eyes closed, not moving. I'm good, Doctor."

Smiling, knowing that she couldn't see it, he entered the house. Grimmauld Place had evidently been abandoned for years, the grime rivalling the descriptions from the books. Tonks had made it halfway down the hall before she had collapsed, shaking against one wall. "Doc – Doctor, I can't – It _hurts_!"

The Doctor crossed over to her, helping her up, throwing one of her hands over his shoulders, and bracing one of his around her chest. "I know. Believe me, Tonks, I _know_. But you've got to get up. Come on, Tonks, come on, the pain is a by-product."

She gave him a dirty look over his shoulder as he began to lead her up the grimy stairs. "Easy for you to say."

"I had it, you know," he said deceptively calmly, swallowing the rest of the emotions.

"_You've infected me?"_

"_There was no other choice."_

Tonks sighed. "No. I didn't know. Since I only learned about –" She stopped, wheezing.

He filled in the rest of the sentence on his own. "I had it. It wasn't pretty. I regenerated because of it. And a few other things," he said with a wave of his hand. "Anyway, I know what the pain is. I know what it feels like, when your veins are on fire and your skin blistering and you look down and see no damage and part of that is because you're not looking down, you're looking up. Your body isn't your own anymore, and the only thing that you still control is the inside of your mind." The words fell out of his mouth driven by the memories he had given up on restraining.

When they reached the landing, Tonks gave him an odd look. "I – nothing like that is happening. It just – an ache. My bones ache."

Ignoring this, the Doctor focused on the other problems. "You're more lucid now. That's – that's good, sort of." He knew what it meant, he knew what was going on, but so much of this rested on him pretending that he didn't, pretending to be out of control when in reality he was more in control than he had been in a long while.

She panted. "Whatever room you like."

_Here we go again._

"What room should we start with?" he asked, feeling Time drop back into place. Every time Tonks acted out of time, the entire tapestry twitched.

He led them down the hallway to a bedroom. "This one."

That room wasn't it, nor were any of the others on that floor, but one floor up, in what had been Sirius' room – the arrogant prat, of course he would keep it in his room, thank _Gallifrey_ that the Master hadn't been able to get in – there was a small model of a sailing ship on the dresser. Next to it lay a note and a key. The key was small and plain, and looked astonishingly like the one that the Master had taken.

The note read, in quick, sloppy handwriting, _"Just in case you aren't dead."_

Half-smiling, the Doctor swept the note and the key into his pocket, careful not to touch the model. "That's it."


	60. The Possibilities, V

**Doctor Who, Special Series; Episode 12: The Possibilities**

**A/N: I, um, apologize in advance. Feel free to hate me. Also, FYI, I will be posting a chapter every other day, now that I'm done writing. The next chapter will go up MONDAY, MAY 13****TH**

**Thanks to: Shadow Dragon25, Paul, Stellarsong, Frog's Princess, Uryuu-Nipaa, Starcrystal8, FlyingLovegood123, Ashlee Pond, Wonderbee31, LilyLunaPotter142, Iamthe42, and Jimbobob5536. Special thanks to Paul, who is now helping me beta this.**

**Fun Fact of the Day: Tom Baker (4****th**** Doctor) and Lalla Ward (Romana II) were dating while working on Doctor Who.**

* * *

Tonks wasn't doing any better, but she wasn't notably worse either. Picking up the model, she cradled it carefully in both hands. "Really? He left it, here?"

The Doctor strained to keep a look of pure confusion off his face. "It's the Corsair's TARDIS," he got out finally.

"What is it?" Tonks asked in response, proving his guess correct.

Nodding, the Doctor began to lead the way back out. "He wanted me to find him. He knew he was going to die – _well_, regenerate, more like it, but he knew that the odds of him getting through this _without_ running into the Master were low at best. So he left his TARDIS somewhere I could find him but the Master couldn't. That'd be here."

Shifting the mini-TARDIS to one hand so she could clench onto his, Tonks started to navigate the stairs again. "And why can't you touch it?"

_Him_, the Doctor almost corrected out of force of habit – genders weren't relevant for Time Lords, but it was astonishing how important they became when the possessor of the pronoun in question was a sentient time-and-space-travelling sometime police box – but swallowed the word. It didn't matter now. "Because the Corsair will have locked it just in case the Master did find it. Once I touch him, he'll grow to his full size very rapidly. We'll want to be outside when that happens."

"Ah," Tonks said faintly, losing her grip on the banister as both her legs gave out.

The Doctor held on tightly to her arm, pulling her upright again. "Now, no call to go doing _that_," he scolded, smiling.

She laughed, getting her feet back under her and stepping carefully into the downstairs hallway again. "Now what?"

Escorting her down the hall and out the door, the Doctor fought down the latest fission of fear. "Now," he said, jerking his head and swallowing, "I'm going to help you to sit down, and ask you to, no matter what, _not move_. I'm going to restore the Corsair's TARDIS to his proper size. And then I'm going to do a few things, and you _cannot_ watch, alright?"

Tonks nodded, still smiling shakily. "Got it, Doctor. Wanna just put me on his TARDIS?"

"_No_." The word came out stronger than it was meant to. Taking a deep breath, he steadied and repeated, much more quietly, "No."

She stumbled out into the street, releasing his hand to clutch the TARDIS again. "You said the Time Vortex doesn't exist anymore. So how can –"

He really hated out-of-order conversations, even more than he hated out-of-order relationships. The Doctor tried to reverse engineer the conversation. "Ah – the Child. With his TARDIS shrunk, the Nightmare Child couldn't get in. Even when I expand it again, until someone opens the doors, it's still connected to the Time Vortex." The Doctor rubbed one eye, trying to get caught up. "Um – you ever heard of Schrodinger?"

Sitting down on the curb, Tonks shook her head. "No. He a Muggle?"

Well, at least they seemed to be in order now. Although Tonks was still missing a line. "Yes. _Well_ – yes. Human, no, but not a wizard. I think. Anyway, the Vortex is there until you try to access it. Which is something I'd really rather avoid right now, to be frank. So please, Tonks, I need you to just stay outside and not look."

Tonks looked up at him. "No? Why not? Wouldn't I be safer in there?"

And there it was, that last line. "Right, hand me the TARDIS and then duck and cover." He reached a hand down to her.

Shuddering, the muscles in her neck clenching and unclenching randomly, Tonks put the ship model in his hand.

He grabbed the model and threw it into the street. Behind him, Tonks curled into a ball, protecting her head. He wasn't going to cover, though: he stood on the curb, eyes staring in fascination.

The instant the model touched his hand it began growing, but when it left, it exploded. The ship grew, and grew, and grew, mast coming up to touch the sky, bowsprit headed in one direction, rudder in the other. The air rippled, a shockwave exploding out.

Grinning wildly, the Doctor let the air billow his jacket out and ruffle his hair. "There we go, darling. There we go." The edge of the TARDIS came to a halt inches from his face. Laughing, he stroked the wood. "Perfect. Just perfect." Turning, he looked down at Tonks. "Okay. Just – just stay there. And no matter what you hear, you _cannot_ look down the street. Tonks, you understand? Repeat it back to me, _please_."

Tonks looked up, eyes hazy and unfocused. "No matter what I hear, I will not look down the street. No matter what I hear, I will not look down the street. No matter what I hear, I will not look down the street. No matter what I hear –"

The Doctor swallowed. "Good, Tonks, that's good. Stay here, don't move. Close your eyes, go to sleep if you want to. Trust me, though, Tonks, trust_ me._"

She nodded, closing her eyes and curling into a ball. "I trust you. Always."

He patted her shoulder, straightening his jacket absently. This was the crucial part of the plan, the part that had a horrifying possibility of going wrong. Hand running along the TARDIS wall, he strode down the street. He didn't look at the corpses, he didn't look because if he looked, they would die. There was a chance they would survive, in another universe, if he didn't look at them.

Schrodinger's Cat – the cat was neither alive nor dead until he looked. Time Lords were memory-proof – that didn't mean they didn't change the world when they looked at it.

"River," he whispered, coming up behind her. "I'm sorry."

River chuckled, hands on her thighs, head down. "I'm sure I don't want to know why."

He sighed, kneeling behind her. "No. You don't." Resting his hands on her shoulders, he scooted so that nearly their entire bodies were pressed against each other. "River, do you trust me?" He held her, nothing sexual in the motion at all – just comfort. For her and for him.

"Absolutely," she replied instantly.

He swallowed. "That's good." Digging his thumbs into her shoulder blades, he rested his head on the back of her neck. "I – I need to know – has it infected you yet?"

She reached a hand up and grabbed his. "Yes."

"Oh. That's good, actually," he said quietly, "that's really good."

River tipped her head back, peeking open an eye to stare at him. "Really?" Her eye was wet, just enough to tell him that she was on the verge of tears.

He forced up a smile. "Yeah. And don't look." Gently, he raised his free hand and closed her eyes. "It's safest that way." Smiling, he returned his hand to her shoulder. "It's good," he added, "because I've got a plan that depends on it being inside you."

"You?" River laughed again. "A plan? Never."

The undeniable humour in her voice made him smile, for real, and touch his face to her neck again. "_Oh_ yes. And it's such a brilliant plan too."

She smiled, tipping her head back so their cheeks brushed. "Care to tell? Or would it be dangerous?"

He exhaled a short breath, closing his eyes. "As much as I can. The consciousness is powerful – and terrifying."

"I got that," she chided. "It is in me."

The Doctor pulled his head back sharply, opening his eyes again. "You certain? The consciousness – it's in you?"

She turned her head again, a smirk visible on her lips. "Of course I'm certain. Is this important?"

"Oh, it is _very_ important, River," he purred. "It's the most important part of this whole plan."

River shook her head. "Right, the plan you have yet to explain."

He sighed, running his hands off her shoulders and down her arms. "The consciousness is powerful – but it's not omnipotent. Jack is a never-ending source of food – which would normally be terrifying, but right now it's bloated and slow. It can only focus on one other victim at a time, and you, _sweetie_," the word was an apology, a two syllabled version of an explanation and a comfort that would have taken days, "you are its current target."

She frowned, lowering her head. "Why not Tonks?" She paused, looking up at him with closed eyes. "If it was in Tonks, I would do anything to get it in me instead. But why did it chose me to begin with? She's the better target."

"Whoever you are, you trained as a soldier," he said quietly, avoiding the question. He knew the answer to it, of course, knew the Child adored paradoxes, but he would put off telling River that for as long as he could.

For some reason, that made her wince. "Yeah," she whispered, "I did. Got a problem with that?"

He chuckled. "Evidently not."

That pulled a grin from her. "No. No, you don't. You take shameless advantage of it, you old bastard. My Doctor," she said, much more quietly.

"_It does for the Doctor."_

"_I am the Doctor."_

"_Yeah. Someday."_

The memory made him smile slightly. "Yours?"

"Can't get rid of me," she told him. "Besides, you've done rather well in avoiding the question. Why me?"

He swallowed, knowing that at this distance she could feel his every movement. "The Nightmare Child prefers paradoxes." That was it. That was all he needed to say.

Her eyes opened at that, looking quickly at him. "Oh," she said, closing them again. "I understand."

Of course she did, his clever River had worked it all out. He groaned, moving his hands back up to her shoulders. "I need you to do something for me, River – I need you to tell me when the consciousness begins to take over. There's some very important fiddly timing, and I need to know precisely when it starts."

"Of course." She sighed, leaning back against him. "My odds, Doctor?"

His fingers clenched. "You know them," he said simply.

She turned her head into his shoulder, taking long, deep breaths. "Yeah. I do."

There wasn't really anything he could say to that, so he just held her, a presence that she probably badly needed. After a minute, he frowned, pulling back slightly. "Do your knees hurt?"

River laughed, _really_ laughed. "Only you." Shaking her head, she added, "Yes. They do, a bit. I'm getting older, body's not working quite the way it used to."

"How old _are_ you?" he asked, curious.

She smirked up at him. "_Rude_, Doctor."

He wrinkled his nose, knowing she couldn't see it, and not really caring. "I'm nine hundred and six," he pointed out, all innocence. "There. Now it's your turn."

"You're _young_." The tone of surprise was evident. "I'm not nearly that old."

The Doctor made a face down at her, not really sure whether to take that as a compliment. "If I'm young, you must be a baby."

She laughed again. "Three hundred and fifty seven," she said brazenly.

"What?"

"That's how old I am."

He blinked. "How did you – only three hundred? That's really – all twelve regenerations?" He _hated_ it when his tongue got ahead of his mouth, but it seemed condemned to happen in this regeneration.

River sighed. "Bit of a long story there, too many spoilers."

"Oh," he said quietly. "Okay then. Ah – I need another thing from you," he added quickly, putting together the last pieces of his plan.

She shook her head. "_You_. What, dear?"

He swallowed again, trying to keep the emotions out of his voice. "A communications unit. One of the expensive ones, from the 51st century or later."

"Oh," she said, and he could tell from her tone that she had put most of it together. "That's very dangerous."

The Doctor forced up a smile. "Wouldn't be my plan if it wasn't!" And the horrible thing was how very true that was, how many of his plans were built out of smoke and mirrors and came crashing down midway through.

Shaking her head, she dipped a hand into one of her pockets. "Gimmie a mo', you made this one dimensionally transcendental."

He grinned proudly – of course he had.

Working through touch alone, River found the comm unit and raised it over her shoulder. "That work?"

The Doctor took it, looking at the panels. A strip of electronics and plastic, 3.2 inches long and 1.1 inches tall, slightly curved. It was sleek and white, with four black panels that he knew would light up blue when activated. "Yeah," he said faintly. "Yeah, that'll work."

River groaned, curling in on herself. "Oh god, that hurts." Wincing, she raised her head again, eyes firmly shut. "Doctor – it's winning."

He grimaced, clenching the unit in one hand and her shoulder in the other. "Alright then." Releasing her shoulder, he reached into his jacket, pulling out the gun. "River," he whispered, mouth next to her ear. "Do you trust me?"

She chuckled, the very _sound_ painful. "How many times are you gonna ask that before you believe my answer?"

"As many times as I feel necessary." Shifting the comm unit to the hand with the gun, he rested his now-free hand on her shoulder. "I'm sorry."

This earned him a raised eyebrow. "You've said that a lot and so far, I'm not sure why."

Gently, he raised the gun and let the end of the barrel rest against her neck. "I'm sorry," he said again, "for this."

"Ah." River looked down again. "There's a good reason?" Her voice shook with tightly controlled pain.

He sympathized, tightening his lips. "Yes."

Abruptly, she straightened her back, head up. "Then do it." She swallowed, her chin raised.

"No," he whispered, keeping the barrel tight against her neck. "No, River, not yet. I'm sorry. I'm so, _so_ sorry, but I need to wait."

She let out a soft hiss of breath. "Why?"

He tightened his fingers on her shoulder in the hope that they could provide comfort. "Because of the Child."

For a second they were silent again. River nodded slowly and then let her head hang. He knew what she was going through, he had done it himself, only he had had the assurance that he would regenerate and survive – and he couldn't give that assurance to River.

Tensing, River screamed, a howl of pain and fear and agony forced through lungs that weren't quite equipped for it. "Doctor – Doctor – I can't – _help me!_"

"_It hurts, it hurts, it hurts, it hurts, I can't stop it I can't block it off I don't know how to do this, Romana, it's terrifying, I don't know but pain pain pain pain –"_

He shook himself out of his memories, focusing on River. "I know, I _know_, but I'm still here, River. Listen to me, I'm still here." The Nightmare Child affected Time Lords differently, their minds were strong enough that the sensory discontinuity didn't arrive until the end, but it still _hurt_. Oh, how it hurt.

"Please make it stop, Doctor, please make it _stop_! I can't – I'm trying – you showed me how to block but it's not working and I can feel it – it's winning, I can't feel my legs, Doctor, make it _stop!_"

She trusted him. She trusted him absolutely, that much was clear, and he was about to violate that trust in the worst way possible. He sighed. "Keep talking, River. I'm here for you. I'll always be here for you."

River sobbed, the sound ragged and broken and _wrong_. "You _weren't_. I looked and you weren't there and it hurts my legs hurt all I can feel is pain Doctor I think I'm hallucinating but how can I tell?"

He stiffened. At some point in his future, she was going to need him and he wouldn't be there – and there wasn't a thing he could do to fix it. "I'm here now, River, I'm here now. Just keep talking. Trust me, my voice is _not_ a hallucination."

She gave him a ghastly, death's-head smile, eyes still closed. "No. It's not. None of my hallucinations sound like a brat from the estuary."

He forced a smile. "And where are most of your hallucinations from?"

"Hurt, hurt, hurt, hurt," she panted quietly. "Spoilers, Doctor, I'm not about to tell you."

Gently, he rubbed one shoulder with his hand, the other holding the gun steady. "It's almost time."

Her eyes flickered open again, her breath coming in short, ragged gasps. "I know. Doctor – important – got to tell you – you've got to know –" She paused, panting. Her eyes slipped shut. "I know – I know – I know – you don't return it – not yet – Doctor. I love you." She stared at him, eyes focusing on his.

Every muscle he had clenched. _That_ he was not expecting. Companion – of a sort. Friends – definitely. Bedfellows – well, the more she talked, the more it sounded like it. But _lovers_? Lovers to the degree where she told him of it while she was _dying_ – and not for any comfort of her own. To comfort _him_.

Sighing, River closed her eyes. "It's here."

He waited, tense. There was going to be a moment, a split second when this had a chance, and he had to get it _precisely_ right –

"We have not met you for a long time, Doctor." The words came out of River's mouth but it wasn't River speaking. This was the final phase, the last part of the infection – when the consciousness took over the victim's body. "We will talk with you about our victory."

The Doctor grinned, determination sparking through him. Releasing River's shoulder, he shifted the comm unit to his free hand. "I think _not_, actually." He slapped the flat comm unit onto the back of River's neck, just below her bun, and flipped the switch to activate it. Sealants on the flat, slightly curved surface activated and glued the comm unit to her neck.

River – River's _body_ jerked, a hand rising to scratch at her neck. He shoved it away with ease. "Your plan will not work, Doctor. We do not see that option. You are bluffing. You do not kill." The voice grated on every nerve he had, because it was River's and not-River's at the same time and horrible and _wrong_.

Placing both hands on the gun, the Doctor bared his teeth. "You know what? It's been a long time since I met you last, and I've changed." He had to take a deep breath to steady his hands. "For one, I _don't_ bluff."

The world slowed. River's body twisted, beginning to move away. He pulled the trigger. A square appeared in River's neck, a square hole all the way through. One artery, half her spinal cord, her trachea, her oesophagus – gone. Blood spurted outward, some of it splattering on his coat. Her spinal cord was the first to go. It would have been painless.

River Song was dead.


	61. The Possibilities, VI

**Doctor Who, Special Series; Episode 12: The Possibilities**

**A/N: WARNING – Copies of the Series 7 part 2 DVDs were accidentally released on Friday; SPOILERS abound on Twitter and Tumblr. Be careful and if you do have access to the finale, don't be a dick. Thank you.**

**On a slightly more personal note, it looks like is not sending emails, so to the 70 of you who read the last chapter anyway, THANK YOU ALL VERY MUCH. Even bigger thanks to Ptroxsora, Lyra the Heretic, NightSand, HermitsUnited87, and Stellarsong for reviewing the chapter, and making me hope that I hadn't terrified you all off with the last couple lines. (Thanks also to anon reviewer A W, who left a review on Chapter 8). **

**Not-quite-so-fun Fact of the Day: David Tennant's last line was run four different times, with varying amounts of emotion. The version eventually used was the **_**third**_**, meaning that somewhere out there is a five second clip that is **_**worse**_**. (Contrary to Tumblr, that line was **_**not**_** improvised, and is in fact in the script.)**

* * *

She was dead. He'd killed her.

The words echoed around his brain, suddenly nonsensical. River Song was dead. Again. A paradox to end all paradoxes, worse than someone _not_ dying was someone dying twice – it should bring the Reapers, but the Child would have already eaten them.

Dead, yes, but that didn't mean he had lost. Because – he ripped the comm unit off of River's neck, off from where it was located slightly above the square hole. Ripped it off and tripped the switch, deactivating the sealants at the same time.

Dropping the gun, he stood and took off at a run for the Corsair's TARDIS. For Tonks. He skidded to a halt by her body.

At some point during that long undefinable time when he had been talking with River – strange, wasn't it, how much of his Time sense depended on the vortex – Tonks had collapsed, curling into a foetal position. Blood ran from her head into the gutter. She wasn't breathing.

He moaned, dropping to his knees. "No, no, no, not you, Tonks, not you too." Carefully placing the comm unit on the ground, he rolled Tonks over onto her stomach. "Now _work_." It had worked in the Library, it had to work here – true, he was adapting it for his own purposes, but that wasn't anything new –

Picking up the comm unit again, he placed it on the back of Tonks' neck, in the same place that it had been on Rivers, and tripped another switch – the playback switch.

He waited one – two – three seconds in dead silence, waiting, uncomfortably aware that he was the only living being in this universe.

Then Tonks took a long shuddering breath in, and then another.

Laughing, he helped her roll over onto her back, supporting her with both hands. "There we go. There we _go!_"

Tonks' eyes flickered open to blurrily stare at him upside down. "Wait –'m supposed to keep my eyes closed."

"Not anymore!" he yelled jubilantly. "_Well_, don't look down the street. Let's just get into the TARDIS as quickly as possible, and then we can talk."

Shaking slightly, she rolled over again and pushed herself upright. "Right. Whose TARDIS is this, by the way, since you've sent yours off again?"

"Hmn?" He raised his eyebrows, digging in a pocket for the key. "Oh, right, you've only got your memories. Not – not – right. Yes, ah, it's the Corsair's. Borrowing it off him, since he obviously – right."

She cast him a raised eyebrow. "Who else's memories would I have? Yours? I hope not."

He pulled the key out, just resting it in the lock – a knothole on the side of the ship – waiting for her to figure it out.

Standing shakily, she looked down at herself and collapsed, knees suddenly weak. "You _bastard_," she hissed quietly.

Sighing, he nodded, turning his back and fiddling with the key. "Hello, River."

River Song, current inhabitant of Nymphadora Tonks' body, wrenched his shoulders around and delivered a stinging slap to his face. "You know that if the Child hadn't already killed her, this would have, right?"

"Yes," he said quietly, rubbing his cheek. "I know. When I open the doors –"

"I'm dead," River retaliated, "I'm not stupid."

He wrinkled his nose and unlocked the door. "Now!" Diving into the TARDIS, he held the door open just long enough for her to dive through. Slamming it shut, he dashed to the console. "Extractor fans, extractor fans, raise landing gear, but got to clear the air first – do you know how long it's been since I've had to fly a TARDIS _manually_?"

Lying on the floor, River gave him a glare. "Two weeks?"

"Shut up," he said amicably. Spinning his way over to a keyboard, he began typing rapidly. "Extractor fans – _on_."

With a _whirr_, a set of fans in the ceiling rumbled on, beginning to exchange the air. He looked up, pleased, and then began typing again. "Landing gear – up. Destination – doesn't matter. And – _take-off_!"

River sat up, crossing her arms. "In some former life, were you an airplane pilot?"

"_No_," he said, offended. "I just like what they say. Did I ever teach you how to fly a TARDIS?"

She snorted, standing and sauntering over to the console. "I want explanations."

He glanced at her. "Alright. Get the stabilizers."

"You're assuming I can fly her," River told him, moving to the other side of the console.

The Doctor gave her a glare. "Him," he corrected, "this TARDIS is male. And yes, I'm assuming you can fly him, you're standing right by the stabilizers."

She laughed tightly. "Clever boy." Thumbing a switch, she looked up at him. "Explanations?"

He groaned, entering numbers. "You _have_ to live." He paused, his eyes flickering up to meet hers. "I – Tonks is – _was_ my companion. She was _mine_, and I would have done anything for her. But your death doesn't happen here. It doesn't happen now."

"You know how I die," River said, fascinated.

One of the advantages of being a Time Lord – she didn't look anything like River, but her voice was the same, her inflictions were the same, her movements were the same. It was like watching her after regeneration. He was looking at Tonks, but he was _seeing_ River, and that determined what name he used.

The Doctor raised an eyebrow. "Spoilers."

Leaving the console, River stalked over to him. Poking him in the chest, she glared up at him. "You promised explanations."

He grunted. "We're in the Vortex now. We're safe."

"I am in another woman's body," River said flatly. "And at some point, Doctor, I want explanations."

Rolling his eyes, he collapsed on the floor, staring at the ceiling. "You need to live. I used a bit of 51st century technology to accomplish that. You ever heard of ghosting?"

She joined him on the floor, smiling slightly. "Yeah. Impressions of a person's memory get stuck in the software. It's a bit of a defect, but not one anyone's ever cared enough to program out."

"It's only a defect if you're not the one wearing it when you die," he commented quietly. "Since that 'defect' just saved your life –" He waggled a finger vaguely in her direction, far more preoccupied with listening to the TARDIS and making sure he was doing alright.

River shook her head. "So you slapped the comm unit on me –"

He raised an offended eyebrow. "Oi! There was careful timing involved in that. I had to get _all_ of you, not just the loose bits running around. I waited until after it had taken over, but before it was able to drive you out. When you were looking for a home, so to speak."

She raised her own eyebrows in reply. "And how did I get into this body?"

"Oh, that part was simple. Tonks was – ah – not there, and so all I had to do was hit playback – and you were home free." He smiled charmingly at her.

This probably deserved the glare that it got. "Couldn't you have done the same for her?"

He sighed, tendons standing out in his neck. "No." Standing abruptly, he returned to the console. "You're Time Lord enough that your mind learned to fight off the Nightmare Child. Tonks could never do that." Looking down, he flipped a lever.

"So you saved me at the cost of her," River said quietly.

"Yeah." He couldn't meet her eyes, couldn't stand to see the condemnation in them. "Yeah, I did." Flipping another switch, he forced up a smile. "But now I have a plan."

River stood, taking her place on the opposite side of the console. "Care to explain?"

The Doctor swallowed. "No. Not that – it's not you." He fumbled with a lever, differently positioned than the one he was used to. "Well, it is you, but it's not – there's nothing you can do about it. You're not quite as – ah – special as me."

She looked torn between yelling at him and laughing. "Nice to know that your foot-in-mouth skill is a constant."

He wrinkled his nose. "I'm a Time Lord. Essentially, I'm memory proof. I don't affect the timelines by looking at stuff. But you – you're different – _complicated_, and if you see the wrong things, hear the wrong things, it could set a timeline in place that isn't fixed yet."

River raised an eyebrow. "I was asking for an explanation, Doctor, not a brush-off."

Pulling down on the lever, he returned to a keyboard and began typing. "There are fixed points, but they are only fixed for their timeline."

"An _explanation_ means that I have to understand it," River snapped, patience visibly fraying.

He shot her a glare. "The victory of the Allies in the Second World War is a fixed point – but if Germany had won in the First World War, that timeline would have never existed."

Face calming, she nodded. "Go on."

"So this is a timeline that was formed because of a point that wasn't fixed – ah – a flexible point, if you prefer."

She snorted. "No."

The Doctor grinned, eyes sparkling. "You don't prefer, then. Anyway, there was a temporal tipping point, and it went the wrong way. See, some fixed points really _are_ fixed. Humanity always leaves Earth in the 22nd century, among others. Different countries, different objectives – but by 2300, there's always a colony on Mars. And part of being a Time Lord is recognizing that. We're on a timeline where one of those fixed points was violated, but if you interact too much with it, you could pull it closer to the correct timeline, and that's the _last_ thing we want."

All blood drained from her face. Evidently he was going to/had already told her enough about fixed points for her to understand the danger. "I'm dead back there, aren't I?" she said quietly.

He released the console, spinning to face her. "_No!_ No, you're not. Absolutely not."

She levelled her glare at him again; he quailed. "I told you, you're shit at lying to me."

Grabbing her shoulders, he made steady eye contact with her. "River, believe whatever you want about anything else, but you _have_ to accept that you are _not_ dead. This is the most important thing you will ever do, River Song, and I need you to believe that."

He got a doubtful look. "Uh huh. Doctor –"

There was a loud thud.

"Bingo!" he yelled, glancing around.

The TARDIS shook, worse than his ever had. His vision swam in and out of focus, accompanied by a dreadful screeching noise like a thousand steel plates scraping against each other. Accompanied by a final thud that knocked him to the floor, the world snapped back into place – sort of.

"What the _bloody_ hell?"

Laughing, the Doctor rolled over on his back to grin up at the Master. "Long time, no see."

The Master gaped at him, mouth open, eyes narrowed. "You _crashed_ your TARDIS into this one. What the _hell_ were you thinking?"

"I didn't _crash_ them," the Doctor corrected, sitting up. "I _merged_ them. Much better."

Raising an eyebrow, the Master gave him a hand up. "Yes, much less likely to kill us _now_, and much more likely to kill us _later_."

The Doctor rolled his eyes. "It was _intentional_."

"Obviously." The Master leaned against the console. "So why are you here?"

Shoving herself to her feet, River gave him a glare. "Yeah, Doctor. Why _are_ we here?"

He stuck his tongue out at her before returning his attention to the Master. "The Time Vortex is gone."

The Master sighed. "Are you going to tell me something I _don't_ know, or should I just tie you up now?"

"It's gone, but with the right force, I can still reach it," the Doctor said, stepping closer to him.

Backing away, the Master shook his head. "_No_ – you wouldn't – you _would_." He laughed dryly, still shaking his head. "You're absolutely _insane_, anyone ever tell you that?"

River snorted. "All the time. Does he listen? No, but it doesn't stop us."

"I like you," the Master noted.

The Doctor ignored this. "I need to blow up the Corsair's TARDIS."

"_What,_" the Master said flatly. "No. You don't. You can exercise that overly-inflated brain of yours, and come up with a plan that _doesn't_ involve blowing up the ship _we're on_."

The Doctor stepped up to the console, grabbing onto a lever that existed in both TARDISes. "We've gone down a timeline that never should have happened. The Time Vortex doesn't exist here, but with a sufficiently large explosion, I can reach it and reverse the timeline. This never needs to have happened."

River cleared her throat. "And if that doesn't work?"

"We die," the Doctor said with a cocky smile. "But we were going to do that anyway, so I say, damn the howzers and full speed behind!"

She made a small, quickly strangled noise. "It's damn the _torpedoes_, Doctor, and full speed _ahead_. For a man who can recite _Hamlet_ by heart –"

He waved a careless hand, yanking the lever down. "So, Master? Plan?"

The Master glared at him. "For the record, it's a rubbish plan. Why can't your TARDIS be the one that explodes?"

"Because I wasn't there for any length of time, and you were. You _lived_ it, and if you come back from this, there'll be two of you." The Doctor turned his back on the others, focusing on the console. Not all of the gadgets existed on both TARDISes and he had to do some already-complicated fiddling to get this to work.

The Master laughed. "I could live with that."

Glaring at the other Time Lord, the Doctor found another switch that would work. "You know the consequences."

Wrinkling his nose, the Master leaned against the console. "Since when did you become all stuffy? If I closed my eyes, I could be listening to Borusa."

"What can you tell me about the decision point?" the Doctor asked, ignoring the jab. It hurt, but it was the kind of infantile teasing he had dealt with for his entire life.

"Decision point?" River asked, interjecting herself into the conversation again.

The Doctor spared her a glance. "The opposite of a fixed point. It's where the timelines separate. One of them went the wrong way, to produce this mess."

"Not much," the Master answered, sobering. "1996 or 1997, but you could have guessed that. It turned to hell _fast_ – as bad as the War again."

The Doctor swallowed, flicking another switch. "That's because the Lock is open."

The Master shoved him, _hard_. "You said it was permanent. I _asked_ you, during that year. You _said_ it was permanent!"

"I was wrong," the Doctor spat, turning to face him. "I was wrong, and I opened it trying to get away from _you_, and now we're all going to have to deal with that."

The Master snarled, breaths coming in short, panicked gasps. "Then close it up again! Do what you did the _last _time."

The Doctor stepped forward, poking the Master in the chest. "_Last_ time, circumstances were different. _Last _time, I had access to the entirety of Gallifreyan technology. _Last _time, there was no one opposing me. Do you know what's happened behind that Lock? I will be facing Gallifrey at her _height_."

"I'm far more fascinated in how _you_ know what's happened behind the Lock," the Master purred.

Paling, the Doctor took a step back. "Yeah." He swallowed. "Yeah. I'm sure you are."

River touched his shoulder. "Settle, Doctor."

The Master rolled his eyes. "Have the two of you shagged yet?"

River flinched, which was a fascinating reaction he'd deal with later; on his part, he made an entirely undignified squeak. "_What_?"

Smirking, the Master shrugged. "Anyway, I still see no reason for you not to join me and blow up your own TARDIS. Other than the obvious, of course."

The Doctor did his best not to shudder, clenching his teeth. "The odds that the decision point is _not_ mine are so minimal as to be irrelevant."

"That wasn't what I was suggesting," the Master snapped, "and you know it."

The Doctor took a deep breath, forcibly slowing his heart rates. He was – surprise, surprise – running out of time again. "Yes. Right. Well." Grinning, he placed his hand on one last lever. "_Allons-y_, River!" He yanked the lever down.

The world exploded.

The Doctor hit the floor, shoulder first, tucking into a ball to minimize the impact. The floor shuddered underneath him. With another screeching noise, the TARDISes shivered, beginning to separate.

Panting, he threw out a mental touch to his TARDIS. _Now, girl!_

His vision sparked to black as his mind merged with the TARDIS's. They had to take the energy – and they were _not_ going to look at where that energy was coming from because even for them, it would be distracting – and use it to create a pathway to the Time Vortex and then stabilize themselves and hold onto their passengers and not the other ones, the not-passengers, and all the while they could see everything that was and would be, and the Nightmare Child was still inside them, poking and prying and ready to kill, and they had to fight it too, and -

He was thrown out, mind flying back, and he slipped into unconsciousness.

* * *

_Thief._

_Thief, wake up._

_Thief, they need you._

_You brought pets along and they need you._

_Thief, I can't help them._

_Thief!_

The thoughts pounded at the inside of his head, making an already-bad headache something of a migraine. "Go 'way," he muttered, trying to curl into the blankets on his bed.

There was something wrong with this.

There were no blankets.

There was also no bed.

It took him a minute to figure out why this was wrong. He wasn't supposed to be asleep. It wasn't his sleep schedule yet. But his head hurt.

Moaning, the Doctor shoved himself upright, leaning heavily on the console. _Alright, dear?_

The TARDIS snorted, disengaging herself from his mind. _Help them_.

He wrinkled his nose, activating his sight centres. He was standing – well, technically, he was _leaning_, but whatever – next to the console, facing the doors. Tonks was lying on the floor in front of him, motionless but breathing.

Behind him, a door creaked, and he spun, eyes wide.

River stepped into the console room, closing the door behind her. "Hello, sweetie." Crossing over to him, she smiled, raising her eyebrows. "Any idea why I have a set of memories for an event that couldn't _possibly_ have occurred?"

One eyebrow shot up as he stared blankly at her. "Oh. Yeah, yeah, right. That. You – you remember?"

She chuckled, but her face was very pale. "Yeah. You prat."

He smiled at her, waiting for his own memories to come back. The headache made it hard to concentrate on anything, but for River, he would do anything – he couldn't remember why, though. Something had changed between them, switching them from acquaintances to partners – friendly, _exasperated_ partners, sometimes, but – things had changed. And he couldn't remember _why_.

"_Help! I can't – it's moving too fast I won't be able – it's going to kill me and then what will you do? You need – aargh! Help me! I can't – I'm going to die –"_

"_I'm the only one left – the only living thing in the universe. It should feel different."_

"__, how did the Nightmare Child escape the Time Lock?"_

"_You can help us now, or you can help us later, Doctor, but either way, you _will_ join in the battle."_

"_Do you trust me?"_

"_How many times are you gonna ask that before you believe my answer?"_

"_As many times as I feel necessary."_

And that cleared precisely _nothing_ up. He clenched his teeth, ignoring the waves of memories. "I should help Tonks first," he said, voice rough.

River nodded, bending down beside the other woman. "She's asleep."

He sighed, kneeling next to the two of them, touching Tonks' forehead gently. "Time to wake up, Tonks. It's time for you to wake up."

Her eyes snapped open, focusing on him first. "Doctor? My head hurts."

The Doctor smiled, tension bleeding out of him. "That's to be expected. You had a nasty fall."

There was no injury on her head, no trace of blood on her clothes. Tonks sat up slowly, clutching at his arm. "Who's that?" Her body tensed as she caught sight of River.

River's eyes widened; his did not. He had expected this, had hoped for it, even. "This is Professor River Song. She's – ah – with me."

River snickered, relaxing, as if this was an inside joke he did not yet know.

He ignored it. "She used a vortex manipulator to get in here; it reacted poorly with the TARDIS and you fell." Funny how he could remember that happening. Or rather, not funny at all, but completely expected.

Standing up entirely, Tonks nodded. "Alright. I'll just – go have a lay down, then? We aren't landing anytime soon, are we?"

"No, Tonks," he said, running a hand through his hair. "Not anytime soon."

She swallowed, swaying as she exited the console room. "Aright then. G'night. Or whatever." Her voice wafted down the hallways, trailing her as she disappeared into a bedroom.

River turned to him the instant the door closed. "Explain."

Collapsing into the pilot seat, he gave her an innocent look. "Explain what?"

"I was dead. I remember that. You shot me, and I died. And then I woke up in Tonks' body, and then you blew up a TARDIS, killing a man who at one point you cared for. So yes, I would like to know what you think you are _doing_, if you are thinking at all at this point." She glared steadily at him, leaning against the console.

He rubbed one eye. "You are close enough to a Time Lord to make you effectively memory proof. The timeline we were on – it doesn't exist anymore. With luck, it won't exist _ever_, but it's an alternate timeline. When we broke out – we went back in time, not the normal way. Your body has been de-aged, it's now the same age it was – to the minute – when you left me in the other universe. What happened there literally _never _occurred. There is no proof."

She frowned, looking more worried than before. "But I remember."

"Yes," he said, sighing. "Because for us, it did happen. Sort of."

River scratched the back of her neck. "Thanks, that explained a lot. How can that have happened _and_ have not happened?"

The Doctor frowned. "It happened for us. We remember it, it changed us." Unspoken: _It changed me a lot._ "But for Tonks – for every person who was dead back there – for the Master and the Corsair – it never happened. _Well_ –" He leaned forward. "Dear, can I have a list of everyone on board?"

The TARDIS whirred, and printed out a short sheet of paper. He took it, reading it quickly. "You, me, Tonks, her. Barty's gone." He wasn't sure if he was upset or pleased. He wasn't sure about anything, really.

"Now you really need to explain. Barty?" River gave him a steady look.

He nodded. "You've read the books?"

She rolled her eyes. "Obviously not, sweetie. Explain."

"Fine. Psychopath, identical to me. The TARDIS swapped our bodies, but a few things went wrong. He's been on here since I accidently burnt out his mind in replacing him for my disguise. He's not on here anymore, which means he's dead. It's really anyone's guess as to why he's gone, but my bet is some combination of the Master and the Nightmare Child," he said flatly. "If neither his body nor his mind was on board when we exploded, there was nothing for my TARDIS to grab onto. He's gone."

River sighed. "He was a psychopath, dear. Quit beating yourself up over it. There was nothing you could do about it. So we're back in this timeline now, and the other one won't ever happen?"

He winced, looking at the ceiling to avoid her gaze. "No. It won't happen _if_ someone makes a different decision. I don't know who, or what, or when. Just soon. And probably me. It seems to always be me."

"So now where are we off to?" River said cheerily. "I'm not about to let you sulk, Doctor, I've seen what that leads to. Where are we going now?"

Direction.

He had a direction.

Springing off the seat, the Doctor grabbed a lever and jolted into action. "Scotland! We're gonna try for Edinburgh again, which is, after all, where we were headed to begin with, and meet up with the Corsair and Jack – have you met Jack? Not sure I want you to meet Jack, I feel like you'll be a dangerous combo –"

He continued prattling over her laughter as they flew off through the Vortex. The TARDIS sang with him, humming in his mind.

* * *

_Next time on Doctor Who: Episode 13 – The Road to Hell_

"_Tell me the truth, Major Jones – what are our odds?"_

"_Not good, I'm afraid. The Master has allies – the Death Eaters, the Ministry, everyone that Voldemort was able to convert – that we cannot hope to face."_

…

"_Bastard."_

"_Yep. But a _living_ bastard. I'll take that over certain parentage any day."_

"_You don't _have_ parents."_

"_Neither do you._

…

"_You keep spare gun parts –?" _

"_Had a talk with the Doctor. We don't know if my blaster will work in here – it should, because it uses the same type of energy – but if it doesn't, it's modifiable to a physical gun."_

"_Thought he didn't like guns."_

"_He doesn't. But I didn't give him that option."_

…

"_Jack Harkness, get your flaming _ass_ down here before I kill you!"_

"_Jack, your _ex_ is calling."_

"_She's not – how is she doing that?"_

…

"_You know what I just figured out? You're upset."_

"_Am not."_

"_You are. Bloody ticked off, and why? Because you're right. He's not coming back. He's _ignoring_ you. But I'll go one better. You've _lost_. He's gone, and he won't be coming back. And even if he wanted to, we won't let him."_


	62. The Road to Hell, I

**Doctor Who, Special Series; Episode 13: The Road to Hell**

**A/N: This is the first chapter of the finale. There will be five chapters in this episode, six in the next, and an epilogue. This is also the only time I'm telling you this.**

**Thanks to: Ptroxsora, arellowyn, Iamthe42, Stellarsong, FlyingLovegood123, slytherinofgallifrey, Taricha Granulos, Ashlee Pond, Lyra the Heretic, LilyLunaPotter142, Takei Daloui, and Jimbobob5536.**

**Fun Fact of the Day: Supernatural, Doctor Who, Sherlock, and Homestuck will all be on hiatus after this Saturday. In addition, the Avengers fandom is prepping for the pilot of SHIELD in the fall. I would recommend getting off of the internet for most of the summer; the fandoms will be insane.**

* * *

"Why are we here?" Jack asked, staring innocently at the cloudy sky.

The Corsair shot him a dirty look, holding a wand in one hand and a rock in the other. "These people need help."

Jack nodded, somewhat reluctantly. "Fine. But why are we _here_? You told the Doc we'd meet him in Edinburgh, and last I checked –"

"We _were_ in Edinburgh. We were there long enough for the Master to show up. I couldn't afford to wait any longer." Holding the rock out in one hand, the Corsair tapped it twice with his wand.

Sighing, Jack shoved his hands in his pockets. "But what if he comes looking for us?"

The Corsair glared at him. "Do the math yourself. The mental health of one Time Lord – or the lives of every living being in this castle. I know which I'd prefer."

"You were scared of him before," Jack snapped.

Setting the rock down, the Corsair spun to face him. "Oh, don't mistake me, I am _still_ terrified of what the Doctor turns into when he is upset. But the difference is that the Doctor will, eventually, forgive me for abandoning him. These people will _die_ if I don't do this."

Jack took a step back almost involuntarily. "I thought you weren't big on this whole saving people thing."

"No," the Corsair said instantly – defensively, Jack thought. "No, I'm not. I'm not. I'm just – I'm not risking myself, you understand? The instant I think – yes. I am. I went renegade for a reason."

Jack blinked. "What?"

The Corsair gave him a look that normally meant he was acting like a stupid human again. "I said 'yes'. I'm trying to save them at the possible cost of my own life, and if you pester me too much, I may begin to rethink this decision."

Swallowing, Jack made eye contact steadily. "Oh." He couldn't articulate what he was thinking, just how similar the Corsair was to him: both con artists, both determined to preserve their own lives at any cost, both forever changed by the Doctor.

Nodding, the Corsair set down the rock and stood up straight. "Now. How painful is it for you to die?"

That had not been expected. "What?"

The Corsair swirled his wand extravagantly. "I need a power source, and you're the largest one here."

Jack struggled to keep from gaping, struggled even more to stop himself from just walking off. This Time Lord wasn't the Doctor, but he was the Doctor's – friend, or something. And Jack liked him, most of the time, and he thought they could become friends. But _no one_ knew what dying meant – what it was like to stare into the black and hope and fear that he would never leave it again and the pain and the terror and the despair. For the Corsair to so abruptly ask that of him – Jack bristled, only barely keeping from swearing. "What the –" Biting back the words, he said, more calmly, "You never explained what you're doing."

"Too many ears," the Corsair retaliated, fiddling restlessly with his wand.

And that deserved the sassiest look Jack had in his repertoire. "It's just you and me – and before you say anything," he added quickly, "I will stick every wrench I can find in your plan unless I understand what's going on."

The Corsair grinned. "I'm putting up a Time Lock. We need time to prepare, unless you particularly want to watch everyone else die, and by throwing up a limited one, I can buy us that time."

Jack chuckled. "Sounds like one of his plans."

Shooting him a glance, the Corsair knelt beside the rock, laughing lowly. "You think so?"

"Just as half-assed, yeah," Jack shot back. "So you're doing this without any technology?"

The Corsair tapped the rock three more times, making it glow blue. "Did I say that?"

Snorting, Jack shook his head. "That explaining thing. You're just as crap at it."

"Sod off," the Corsair said genially. "No, I'm not doing this 'without any technology'," he mocked. "I'm connected to my TARDIS. So I've got a source of power – that's you – a connection to the area," he pointed at the rock, "a way to focus it – my wand, and some very complicated mathematics. Be glad you get to miss that bit," he said with a twisted grin.

Jack laughed, bumping the Time Lord's elbow with his knee. "I am – though I think I'll be dead."

The Corsair stood again, hair and robes flying. "Well – shall we go to, then?" He raised the wand, pointing it at Jack.

Taking a deep breath, Jack nodded. "Ready when you are."

* * *

"Classes are welcome to continue so long as they take place inside the castle," Martha said, holding her files in one hand. Her gun was an uncomfortable presence on her hip, but she had to carry it – as much for show, as for any thought of using it.

Giving her a glare over the tops of her glasses, Minerva McGonagall sighed. "We don't have an infinite amount of space, you know."

Martha shifted her weight from one foot to the other, struggling with her patience. "I am fully aware of that, ma'am, we were debriefed on the properties of the castle yesterday. But until the Corsair has raised whatever it is he is working on, it is not safe to leave the walls."

"Don't call me that," McGonagall snapped, hands flat on her desk. "You're not a student."

Martha wasn't sure if this was a good change or a bad one. "And your preferred mode of address is?" Snark – one learned to use it after years of working with, for, or around a certain Jack Harkness.

With pursed lips, McGonagall looked at her steadily. "I think Minerva suits fine, don't you, Major Jones?"

"That'd be Martha, then," she said, tension bleeding out of her. "And I really am sorry, but it's just not safe."

Minerva nodded, sweeping the papers on her desk out of the way. "I know. We're all struggling now. This war has gone on for far too long," she muttered.

Martha forced up a smile that she knew looked more like a grimace. "We're working to stop it. The other thing – the chain of command has been sorted out, more or less."

One of the older woman's eyebrows shot up. "Really," she said dryly. "I am not to be treated to more temper tantrums in my school?"

Struggling not to laugh, Martha shook her head. "No. I'm sure if we left Jack to his own devices long enough – but no."

"Go on then, I am sure this will be _fascinating_." Minerva leaned back in her chair, lacing her fingers together.

Martha gave up and grinned. "Captain Jack Harkness is in charge of offence. Anything outside the walls is his ground. For that, he has ten UNIT operatives. I will cover defence, which should be obvious. I also have ten UNIT soldiers. The Corsair, after he's finished with his thing, will work integration. We've left you the school."

"Charmed," Minerva said. "And what, exactly, is Sirius up to?"

There had been a mutual agreement reached, when UNIT first arrived: anyone who knew the Doctor called the other Time Lords by their titles. Anyone who didn't, used their aliases. It kept things easier for everyone.

Martha sighed. "I don't know, and I don't want to. Knowing him – well, I know the Doctor, but they're astonishingly similar – anyway, it'll probably be dangerous and confusing, but it'll work, you don't need to worry about that."

For a second, all of Minerva's shields dropped, and Martha could see the old, tired woman inside. "Tell me the truth, Major Jones – what are our odds?"

Martha noted the change in address, but decided not to comment. "Not good, I'm afraid. The Master has allies – the Death Eaters, the Ministry, everyone that Voldemort was able to convert – that we cannot hope to face." Clasping the file behind her back, she straightened. "We'll fight, though. We're all here until the end."

Minerva sighed. "Thank you."

Saluting briskly, Martha let slip a slight smile. "Ma'am" she said, all respect. "We will do whatever is needed."

A boom shook the stones; rushing to the window, Martha saw a slight shimmer in the air. "And that would be the Corsair, doing what is needed." Turning, she saluted again. "I'll debrief my men. If you need anything else, I'm spending the night on duty in the entry hall."

"I wish there was more we could do. We're used to fighting in secret, but –" Minerva shook her head.

Caught as she was crossing to the door, Martha turned at this. "Stay strong. We're fighting so that you can stay free. Remind us of that, now and then. We're willing to train any adults in the time we have left, but let the children be children. Continue on with classes. As much as possible, let life continue as normal. Show us why we're here."

Minerva stood, smiling gently. "In a heartbeat, Martha. In a heartbeat."


	63. The Road to Hell, II

**A/N: Whoops. Almost forgot to post this. (In my defence, I was almost late to class.)**

**Thanks to: Ptroxsora, Iamthe42, Ashlee Pond, LilyLunaPotter142, and Jimbobob5536. Review response was a little underwhelming this time. Something wrong?**

**Fun Fact of the Day: John Barrowman notoriously flashed every single one of his co-workers **_**except**_ **for Lis Sladen.**

* * *

With a sound not unlike someone dropping a drum set, the TARDIS _bounced_, sproinging back from her intended destination and clattering her interior.

"We bounced," River yelled, hanging off the console.

The Doctor grinned, throwing a switch. "Yup!"

Using the spin to fall into the pilot seat, River laughed. "We don't normally bounce!"

"Nope!" the Doctor said, popping the 'p' as obnoxiously as he knew how.

The TARDIS suddenly fell silent, returning to her normal faint shuddering and high pitched whirring.

"There we go!" The Doctor laughed again, hammering on a button. "Back in position."

River's eyebrows shot up as she lounged in the pilot seat. "Position near what, precisely?"

The Doctor grinned at her, leaning against the console. "Not sure. Not 1996 Edinburgh, certainly. Other than that? Could be anywhere!"

"You have _scanners_," River said, as if this was something painfully obvious.

It was, but he wasn't about to give her that satisfaction. "Yup!" he agreed cheerily. Spinning over to a scanner, he peered at the readout. "1996 Hogwarts! Close enough."

River's eyebrows made a bid for freedom via her hairline. "Hogwarts?"

"You still haven't read the books?" He spun, one eyebrow cocked in a manner that looked practiced – possibly because it was, repeatedly. He thought it made him look intelligent and authoritative, and did his best to ignore that it also made him look like he had sentient caterpillars on his forehead.

Eyebrows furrowing, River crossed her arms. "Assume no, until you've explained what books you're talking about."

He blinked, shocked enough to forget about trying to look intelligent. "The Harry Potter books. Bestselling series? Broke every possible record? Made their author internationally famous? No?"

"Sweetie, do you know how hard it is to keep up with what books you read?"

The Doctor wrinkled his nose dismissively. "Anyway, we're in the universe those books take place in."

River shrugged slightly. "Alright."

He blinked _again_, really not sure how to respond to this. Curiosity was one thing, anger another – but indifference? He wasn't used to indifference. "Alright?"

_Nope, wait, that was a squeak, squeaking isn't dignified_ –

Taking firm control of his vocal chords, the Doctor cleared his throat. "Right, well, we just bounced off of Hogwarts. May, to be precise. Well, when I say May, I mean June. June first."

"Doctor – that explanation thing again."

The Doctor grinned. "Hogwarts is a school. It's a very, very special school that must be protected at all costs. It also – unless I'm very much mistaken, which I'm usually not, but it's still a possibility – is the last line of defence against the Master."

River tilted her head slightly. "And why did we bounce?"

Yes, that was the complicated bit, wasn't it? "Ah – well – given that – there's a distinct possibility that –"

"You don't know," River said flatly.

He opened his mouth, offended, thought better of it and closed it, and then gave up and opened it again. "I do know. It just doesn't make any sense. Why would he – but here – but –"

Smirking, River cleared her throat. "I'm going to need a little more information about where we're going."

The Doctor sobered, spinning to face her. "Are you telepathic? I can't –" he gestured to his head blankly, "feel you, but – anything?"

She shook her head. "No. He – you've never done anything like that. Spoilers," she added weakly, with a slight smile.

"Right," he said, inhaling sharply. "New experience for you then. This should be fun."

Her eyebrows shot up. "Define 'fun'."

He grinned, touching his fingertips to her temples. "This is a glorified infodump," he said softly. "I'm not looking for information, so you don't need that lecture. And all you need to know is to stay out of my head, and we'll both be good."

River chuckled, not moving her head. "Can I point out that the next you is much better at explanations?"

"You've intimidated me into submission," the Doctor said wryly, smiling. "Now –"

_Books Harry Potter Hogwarts schooling story very good I liked I met her once – off track sorry won't happen again another universe this universe reality they're happening around us or they were but I messed things up I always mess things up it's who I am it's what I do_ –

Raising one hand to catch his wrist, River grinned. "You're off track again, sweetie."

_Right wands magic spells curses Avada kedavra imperio obliviate reducto –_

Spell after spell after spell, name and effect and every piece of information he had from the books and from living it. River Song was a weapon, if he knew anything, he knew that, and this was the information she would need.

_People Harry Sirius Black the Corsair Minerva McGonagall Headmistress Delores Umbridge_ –

Name after name after name. Everything he knew about them, strengths and weaknesses and everything because if she knew it, it could help her.

But there was something else – something big – "If they were – all together – and we bounced – _Yes_!" he shouted, spinning in a circle. "If they're using it as a base – then –" Spinning again, he began pulling levers on the console. "I should be able to do – _this_!"

River laughed. "What? What did you just figure out?"

Releasing the controls, he stared at her, wild-eyed. "It's behind a Time Lock. If I'm right – and I really think I am – the Corsair put a Time Lock up to protect them. But I need to get through – 'cause, you know, I think there's a war, and they're going to need me, and if I do this, we'll have the advantage – and anyway, I'm trying to smash through an impermeable lock, so gimmie a mo'."

"A Time Lock?" River said, worry in her voice. "Doctor –"

He grinned, grabbing onto a lever with one hand and the edge of the console with the other. "_Allons-y_, River!"

Yanking the lever down, he threw back his head and roared his laughter. Around him, the universe tore. Time split, screaming in his head. The TARDIS whirred, struggling against the resistance.

And the Doctor laughed.

It was full of bravado and pain and a streak of sheer terror recognizable in any skydiver. It was darker than nothing and brighter than the stars, burning and freezing and _utterly_ inhuman. It was a Time Lord at the height of his powers, with nothing left to connect him to reality but his own tenuous sanity, and it was despair given voice, a man walking the edge of a cliff and lacking only a reason to step off.

The TARDIS landed with a clatter, Time repairing itself behind her. The Doctor released his grip on the console, stumbling back. "There we go, girl. There we go."

Within seconds there was a loud pounding on the door. "Open up! Open up, you flaming bastard!"

Snapping his fingers, the Doctor opened the doors and ran toward them, grinning. "Corsair!"

The black-haired Time Lord scowled at him, arms crossed as he stood in the TARDIS doorway. "You destroyed my Time Lock."

"Yep!" The Doctor beamed cheerfully at the Corsair. "I had to come find you anyway," he said more calmly. "We've got problems."

The Corsair made a face that meant he was trying _very_ hard not to yell. "You bet your pinstriped _arse_ we do. I put that Lock up for a reason, and you just – just _blasted_ through it, like it wasn't even there!"

Sobering rapidly, the Doctor maintained his smile. "Corsair, I _guarantee_ mine are bigger."

"Can we not get into that?" River said, leaning against the other wall of the doorframe. "Hi. I'm River Song. I'm assuming you're the Corsair."

The Corsair spared her a glance. "Charmed. Doctor – I have the Master on my back with an _army_. I am at _war_ and he will murder everyone in this castle if he gets his way –"

"Oh, we are in the castle?" the Doctor said, trying to peer around the Corsair. "That's good. I was worried we had missed again." Yep and yep: grey stone and nice carpets. Hogwarts it was. They appeared to be in the entry hall – behind the Corsair's shoulder he could see a large wooden door, and he thought he smelled food.

Visibly strained, the Corsair snarled. "_Doctor_, if you _don't _mind – I would very much like to know what you have that's _worse_."

Every ounce of amusement drained out of the Doctor. "The Time War is open," he said flatly, eyes meeting the Corsair's. "Soon, we'll have more Time Lords than just the Master to worry about."

The Corsair's face paled. "Oh. Right." He took a deep breath. "Yeah, I think that one does win."

"I couldn't afford to wait until you brought the Lock down on your own," the Doctor said, much more quietly. "There's a decision point coming up, and we can't miss it. I've already slipped into the wrong timeline once. It's a process I'd really rather not go through again."

Nodding, the Corsair stepped back, out of the TARDIS. "Right. So we've got to wrap this war up soon."

The Doctor swallowed. "Yeah. River, could you get Tonks? She should be ready to wake up now anyway."

"What happened?" the Corsair asked as River vanished into the depths of the TARDIS.

Turning blank, dead eyes on the other Time Lord, he shook his head. "You don't want to know. More importantly, how did you find me?"

"What?"

The Doctor waved a hand impatiently. "In Aberdeen – you found me. _I_ didn't know where I was, I was _barely_ connected to Time, how did you track me down that fast?"

The Corsair sighed, a vein standing out in his neck. "I was sent. The Master knew."

"Oh." And that explained everything. "Because he had –"

The Corsair nodded. "My TARDIS, yes. I was _trying_ –"

"I know," the Doctor said, forcing up a smile. "I know."

It took bare seconds more for River to return, but seconds they amply filled with awkward silence; the Doctor ended up counting the stones on the ceiling, restless and fidgety, even more so than usual.

"Sirius!" Tonks flew into the Corsair's arms, grinning like she was five again. "Glad to see you made it out. Did Harry? And Jack?"

The Doctor blinked, shifting through his muddled brain to remember that the last time Tonks had seen the Corsair they were all running around a Death Eater mansion and had been separated in the chaos.

The Corsair made an expression that indicated he was having a similar problem. "Harry's doing fine. He's returned to classes, much to his displeasure, but this isn't a good fight for him. And Jack's happier than a Sontaran in battle. No one for him to shag, but he's in his element with planning. Hasn't died once in three weeks, so I think he's doing alright."

"Jack?" River said, exiting the TARDIS gracefully, "Jack Harkness? He's still running around, the slag?"

The Doctor cast an eyebrow at her. "You know him?"

River grinned. "51st century girl. Time travel's new enough that there weren't that many of us, and Jack always was a bit flash." She scratched the back of her neck. "Good in bed, though, I'll give him that."

The Doctor choked. "That's – thanks, River, more than I needed to know."

She laughed. "Well – shall we go save the world? You, me, my former shag – all opposing, of course, _your_ former shag."

"Where's McGonagall?" the Doctor said blankly, looking for any way out of this one.

The Corsair smirked. "I'm not getting involved in your domestics."

The Doctor made a face. "Bastard."

"Yep," the Corsair agreed chipperly. "But a _living_ bastard. I'll take that over certain parentage any day."

Crossing his arms, the Doctor glared at the Corsair. "You don't _have_ parents."

The Corsair grinned. "Neither do you. Besides, I think we've gotten off track. Stop the Master, save the world, remember?"

"Brilliant." The Doctor latched onto the change in topic like a lifeline. "Right, so – who've I got?"

The Corsair began ticking things off on his fingers. "Jack and half of UNIT are on offence. Martha – she's a dear, did you know that? – and the other half are on defence. Minerva is keeping the school under control, and someone put me in charge. Harry is sulking, the entirety of the Order is in residence, and the Krillitanes have decided they're more worried about the Master than they are about me, so they're on our side. Ish."

The Doctor blinked. "That's a lot."

"But the Master's got all of the Ministry and the Death Eaters on his side."

Another blink. "Never mind. For once – for _once_, could I have the advantage of numbers?"

The Corsair shrugged. "They'll have set up camp around us. My Lock was up for two months, but the Master will have known that. He won't have let something like that slip by. We're facing a battle within the day."

"He'll start strong – the second strongest group he's got, to batter us down, then the weakest group, to fool us, and then wipe us up with the strongest. Probably Aurors, trainees from both groups, and then Death Eaters, based on what you said," the Doctor said by rote, the details spilling out automatically.

Sighing, the Corsair rubbed his forehead. "And our best defence?"

The Doctor's memories churned as he searched for the long-forgotten patterns. Time Lord, position, strength, weakness. How to fight them, how to win, how to make them think they'd won, how to turn a defeat into victory. Name after name after name that he'd forced into himself in the years after leaving Gallifrey, terrified that someone would be sent to bring him back, afraid to trust because they might be spies, afraid – afraid – afraid –

"He's arrogant," the Doctor found himself saying, "but he's clever. He'll know if we don't put our full force out, but he won't think that we'll be anticipating him. Put everyone out for the front wave, but pull them back steadily. Make him think we're losing. When he sends the third wave in, flip the force – whoever's on the front shouldn't have been there before. The rest of it's just what you'd do for any army."

Words and memories and feelings all tangled up inside him and he didn't know how to deal, couldn't think, couldn't cope, couldn't fathom how much he was betraying Koschei with every word out of his mouth.

The Corsair nodded. "Anything else we could use? Any armies to pull out of your pockets, things like that?"

Silently, he shook his head. "I – no," he said finally. "No. I can't."

River laughed. "We've got you. What more do we need?"

The Doctor paled. "I don't fight." He turned to Tonks. "Stay with the Corsair. Please"

Tonks frowned, hair flattening. "You're not staying? I thought you were done with running away."

River winced; the Corsair took a half step backward. The Doctor tensed, drawing himself upright. "I am not running away. I'm going to fight a different battle."

"The Time Lock," River said quietly. "Alone?"

He cocked a sober eyebrow at her. "No one else would survive." Shoving his hands in his pockets, he sighed, turning to the Corsair. "Good luck with your battle."

"Does anyone else think this is a really _bad_ plan?" Tonks asked.

The Doctor ignored her, focusing on shooing River out of the TARDIS. "The Corsair should be able to get you home. I'll be able to give you four days, but after that, the walls between the worlds are going back up."

The Corsair reached in to grab his arm; the Doctor twisted out of the way, swinging the door shut. "Get back here, coward!"

He ignored the shout, turning to the console. Grabbing a lever, he pulled it down, preparing himself for the fight. The TARDIS made her familiar vworping noise, signalling a successful dematerialization. Sighing, he released the lever, moving for the input area where he could tell her where to go.

The TARDIS jumped sideways suddenly, throwing him off the console. His elbow hit the floor first, a spike of pain thrusting into his mind as he tucked and rolled, avoiding any new bruises. "What was that for?" he shouted, shoving himself up off the grating. "What did I do now?"

She whirred in distress, a red light flashing at the top of her console. The Cloister Bell began to ring.

"Damn it," he spat, stumbling back to the console. "What'd we hit?"

He pulled a display over, peering at it. "What?"

The results didn't make sense. It wasn't possible to have this. "_What_?" There hadn't been enough time. It hadn't been up when he'd arrived, but it was up now.

"_What_."

Better yet, it was connected to the British repository of nuclear weapons. Breaking out would activate all of them.

He was trapped behind a Time Lock.

Again.

Dammit.


	64. The Road to Hell, III

**A/N: That fucking finale I can't even – No spoilers in the reviews, please, but you're welcome to PM me if you like.**

**Thanks to: blue dragon of the 13, Stellarsong, Iamthe42, AshleePond, Wonderbee31, Ptroxsora, LilyLunaPotter142, Eclipse Wing, and Jimbobob5536.**

**Fun Fact of the Day: Susan Foreman, the Doctor's granddaughter, took her last name from the junkyard in which the Doctor parked his TARDIS when they landed in 1963.**

* * *

"That was fast."

The Doctor gave the Corsair a withering glare, locking the TARDIS doors behind him. They were back in the entrance hall, one of the very _last _places he wanted to be. 'There is another Time Lock up. I cannot access the Vortex."

The others visibly relaxed, although they tried not to show it, and he pretended not to see. "So now what?" River asked, apparently fine with his abrupt abandonment of her.

He shook his head. "We fight, I guess. I don't know." Dejected, he leaned against the doors. He hadn't wanted this, hadn't wanted to fight, hadn't wanted to be involved. He'd fought before and it never ended well, he'd done the soldier thing and he was afraid of what he turned into, he'd been a general but he'd let people die, he'd _failed_ them.

But there was nowhere to run, nowhere to hide, no way to get out of the situation he'd found himself in. He was stuck here, stuck now, stuck in the middle of a bloody _war_ that he wasn't going to fight in but he didn't know what his other options were, there _weren't_ any other options, there was just war and misery and death and –

"Does the TARDIS still have a medbay?"

His head jerked up, attention caught. Eyes focusing on the Corsair, he stumbled forward before brain reconnected to body and he straightened. "Yes. She does."

The Corsair shrugged slowly. "Then why not put your name to use? _Heal_ people."

The Doctor blinked. Twice. "Oh." And then he blinked again, just to see if it would change the depth of his _stupidity_. It didn't. "_Oh_. Right. I – yes. I'll – what do you want me to do?" If he retreated, if he forced everyone else to make the decisions for him, then he couldn't mess it all up again. Putting him in charge only made things worse, he'd learned that lesson finally, so he was going to refuse to lead.

The Corsair's eyebrows drew in slightly but otherwise he didn't change facial expression. "Take your TARDIS up to the hospital wing. I'll send the wounded up there. Without the Time Vortex we can't risk you doing battlefield medicine, otherwise I'd have you out there, but –" He shrugged again. "That work for you?"

"Yeah," he said slowly. "Yeah." Turning, he walked back into his TARDIS.

* * *

"We didn't get a proper introduction," River said, stonily ignoring the dematerializing TARDIS behind her. "I'm River Song, and he trusts me."

The Corsair was hard for her to read – too Time Lord-y and not enough like the Doctor – but she thought he looked amused. "I'm the Corsair. The Doctor doesn't trust me, but _I_ don't trust me, so there you go. Sometimes I go by Sirius Black. Long story, very complicated."

River grinned, the pain in his eyes clear – and heartbreakingly familiar – to her. "Same." She dropped a hand, checking her gun holster automatically. It was her comfort motion, a reassurance that even when the world had dropped out from underneath her, she could still kill something. No, not very mature, but she was married to a cosmic twelve-year-old. She had to compensate somehow. "So you're in charge."

Suddenly half his masks dropped, and she could see a tired, scared man staring back at her. It humanized him, without making him anything but what he was: an alien, of a species she had been trained since birth to fight. "Did you want to be?"

She sighed, weighing options. "Can I trust you not to tell the Doctor?"

His face closed off again, leaving him stony-eyed and glaring at her. "If what you have to say would harm him – in _any_ way –" He left the words dangling, not needing to voice a threat.

River glared back, darkly amused that _he_ was trying to frighten_ her_. "Tonks, could you be a dear and go sit over there?" She waved in the general direction of a staircase, not taking her eyes off the Corsair. "Just for a minute, then we'll be done with our power play."

Tonks huffed. "More secrets? I'll go, I'll go, I just –" She sighed, feet scuffling against the floor. "I trust him," she said abruptly. "And I trust you, because _he_ trusts you, even if you don't believe it. But sometimes it's nice to know that you're trusted back, ya' know?"

It was an unintentional barb, but it was still one that hurt. River turned, breaking her staring contest with the Corsair, to meet Tonks' eyes. "I know. And I do, I trust you. Because he does," she echoed, with a slight smile. "But my timeline and his don't match, and I don't know enough about you to know what's safe."

Nodding, Tonks shuffled her feet again. "Yeah. Thanks." She turned quietly and went and sat down on the steps.

"You don't _want_ me in charge," River whispered, once she was certain Tonks was out of earshot. She trusted the Corsair – god help her, but she did – not to mess up the time lines and tell the Doctor too much. "I was trained as an assassin. I don't play well with others."

Shock spread across the Corsair's face, shock that was quickly subdued and replaced by a cunning that she would _bet_ wasn't often displayed. "You travel with him."

A flash of anger that she refused to let show was quickly followed by a spike of determination. "Yes. I come from a future point in his timeline. I know more about him than you do. I know how to _destroy_ him." Yes, she did, and sometimes that _burned_ at her, that she had the knowledge and the skill to take him down, take the greatest man the universe had ever known and dismantle him into his component parts. She didn't want that information, not anymore. She had it regardless.

He frowned, straightening. "And yet you claim he trusts you."

"I don't _claim_ it," she purred, stepping forward, three quarters leashed power and one quarter raw sensuality that she was not afraid to use as a weapon, "I _know_ it. I know his name, _Time Lord_," she spat, turning the title into an insult easily – the oldest lessons, the earliest lessons were with words, how to take his greatest power and transform it into a weakness – "and he knows that, and he still trusts me with his back. But you know what?" Her lips twisted into a smile; she didn't have a weapon out, she didn't _need_ a weapon out, she _was _a weapon, she was _his_ weapon. "I don't need his name."

Admirably, the Corsair didn't flinch, though he did noticeably tense. "He trusts you," he repeated quietly.

River took a step backward, not surrendering, just giving him his space back. "Yes." She smiled, a real one this time, not a threat. "He does. I told you, Corsair: I don't want command. You don't want me in it either. Put me on the battlefield and point me in a direction. I cannot be trusted with subordinates."

Surprise played over his face briefly. "You would kill them?"

Her responding glare was lazy, veiled, and an unspoken threat. "No. But I cannot say I would save them either." That was something she _did_ regret: that in a fight, she could not focus on anyone but herself. Even with her parents, she had caught herself losing focus and had to specifically remind herself to protect them as well. With a stranger, there was no hope.

The Corsair nodded, face closed off again. "I'll keep that –"

Behind him the front doors burst into flame without warning. Swearing, River was on the move in a heartbeat, gun out, running for Tonks. Protection was not her forte – but she would be damned if she let his companion die on her watch. The front doors were definitely on fire, her adrenaline-soaked brain pointed out: there was a wash of heat on her right side, hot enough to burn if she held still long enough, which she wasn't going to, because she had a companion to protect.

"Get down!" River lunged for Tonks, knocking her to the ground, one arm behind her head, the other with the gun out and pointed for the doors. Rolling with her, River ended up kneeling in front of Tonks, bracing her gun in both hands. "Stay behind me."

The doors continued burning.

The Corsair remained where he was, wand out and pointed at the doors. "River –"

"Got them covered," she said tersely. "Go ahead." One knee down, elbows resting on the other thigh, both hands on the gun, one finger just above the trigger. Ready to fire if anyone came through the doors.

Stepping forward, the Corsair raised his wand. "_Aguamenti!_" A spray of water left his wand, covering the doors.

It did nothing to the flames, which only grew larger and more determined.

"They're magical," River said quietly, her hands not wavering on the gun. "The flames are magical."

The Corsair shot her a glare that meant he thought she was an idiot, but she didn't care. It was her first experience with magic, she was allowed to panic. A bit. Just a very small bit, though, she wasn't panicking too much. Concentrating, the Corsair waved his wand deliberately, sending another stream of water out, this one silent, and much larger.

The flames ate the water, absorbing it easily, and spreading onto the stone around the doors.

River frowned, recently learned facts swirling. "Fiendfyre," she whispered.

"Maybe," Tonks said quietly, struggling upright. "Merlin, I hope not, though. Be careful with the gun – technology and magic don't mix well."

She'd forgotten that. How had she forgotten that? It was her _job_ never to forget anything, never to mix things up because she could destroy the timelines, but she had forgotten that. "Thank you." Keeping one hand on her blaster, she twisted the other up and behind, under her coat, to grab the magazine she had put back there. Pulling it out, she slotted it neatly into the bottom of her blaster, returning her attention to the doors.

Tonks breathed out, a short sharp burst of a laugh. "You keep spare gun parts –?"

River smiled at that, adjusting her grip on the gun to account for the magazine. "Had a talk with the Doctor. We don't know if my blaster will work in here – it should, because it uses the same type of energy – but if it doesn't, it's modifiable to a physical gun."

"Thought he didn't like guns." Behind her, Tonks moved, accompanied by the rustle of cloth. Probably drawing her wand.

Grinning, River kept her eyes fixed on the doors. They looked unstable – probably thirty seconds before they had incoming.

"He doesn't," she said, watching the doors begin to disintegrate. "But I didn't give him that option."

Tonks laughed, for real this time, at the same moment as the doors finally gave up the fight and dissolved into ash.

The Corsair took a step forward, putting a shield up around himself. "Tonks, you cover River. River –"

Someone – once – had taken a picture of her going into battle. It was taped into her diary, a reminder. Her Doctor, on seeing it, had wanted a sample of her DNA to make sure that he was not actually married to a shark.

River cocked her gun, 0.3 seconds away from firing. "I get to kill people."

The first black shape, obscured by smoke and ash, stepped into the castle, raising its wand. She could see just enough to tell that it was robed, just enough to make out a sketchy head and chest, not enough to recognize it. "_Avada Ke-_"

_Bang_.

The sound was startlingly loud; she hadn't used a mechanical gun in a while and had forgotten how damn _loud_ the bloody things were. Jerking back from the recoil, she expelled the casing and prepped the gun again.

The black shape was on the ground – if her eyes were at all reliable, she'd put a hole straight through its head. Its robes turned out to be red, not black, but that didn't matter right now.

Another raised its wand.

_Bang_.

It too fell. At this range, she didn't have to worry about a headshot but went straight for the neck.

The same place where the Doctor had shot her.

She shook the memories away, refusing to be distracted. The doorway was filled with black shapes, still surrounded by enough smoke to make them hard to pick out. She didn't have to know how many of them there were, she just had to be able to see _one_.

_Bang_.

Trajectories, aim, instinctual targets, movement, someone behind her – _no don't shoot her she's His_ – someone off to the side – _two hearts danger not-danger not Him –_ enemies in front.

_Bang_.

"Tonks, go warn the school."

"You said –"

_Bang._

"I know what I said! Just go!"

_Bang_.

"_Imperio!_"

She dodged the bolt, rolling to hit the ground with her shoulder first, switching the gun to one hand, letting her coat billow to disguise her shape. Coming back up to a crouch, she looked for the shape that had shot at her.

_Bang_.

"Fuck it," River spat, eyes not quite adjusted to the stinging smoke. A black shape _had_ gone down, but not the one she wanted. Adjusting her gun, she aimed again.

_Bang_.

Movement to her side. Danger was out in front, not to the side – it was the Time Lord. She ignored him, watching the mass of intruders. She'd taken out eight of the invaders in half as many minutes; there was no way any of them _wanted_ to get involved.

"River – I'll cover you."

Hesitant, nervous, scared, a slight tremor, a strong bass, trying to be brave, abrupt, curt, strong accent, Time Lord, not the Doctor, not a danger.

She pulled herself back, disconnecting from the fight, still dedicating some attention to the doorway. "I don't need it."

"You don't have a defence against magic." From his voice, he was standing behind her, about a step to the side and two steps behind.

River remained tense, watching the door. "Fine. You're making yourself a target."

The Corsair knelt down, still behind her. "I'll shield you. Just keep shooting."

"The blaster will last longer on electric mode, not mechanical," she said brusquely, more of her mind returning.

"It's worth a try."

Half her attention still on the door, she released the clip, tucking it into her belt before flicking a switch on the barrel. "Ready."

The gun sizzled in her hands. A beam of blue light flashed across the room. One of the shadows screamed and fell.

"It works," she said, grimly pleased, and threw herself into the fight once more.


	65. The Road to Hell, IV

**A/N: I'm sorry, I haven't been in a writing mood for two weeks now. Hopefully inspiration comes back soon and I can get those 400****th**** and 500****th**** review one-shots out.**

**Thanks to: JoojooBrother, FlyingLovegood123, Duchess of Night, Stellarsong, Ptroxsora, Ashlee Pond, Lyra the Heretic, Iamthe42, LilyLunaPotter142, blue dragon of the 13, Jimbobob5536, and Wonderbee31.**

* * *

"I thought you'd be out there trying to prevent a fight," Martha said, head deep in a cupboard.

The Doctor grunted, plainly not paying attention to her. That was fine – it was something that, for better or for worse, she had gotten used to. "I can't."

Coming back out with the labels she had been looking for, Martha grabbed her clipboard again. "Did you try?"

That got his attention. Glaring at her, he stood up from the hospital bed and paced. "I am nine hundred and seven. I don't need you to – to- to _mother_ me."

So that would be a resounding 'no', then. That was fine, she could work with that. "And why aren't you trying?"

He sighed, and flopped back onto the bed, staring at the ceiling. "There's a Time Lock up. If I broke it, it would set off Britain's store of nukes. The Master's in control of the opposing army. What makes you think there is _anything_ I could do?"

"That's never stopped you before," Martha said, holding onto her temper with both hands and a foot. The sheets said that there were supposed to be fifteen bottles of Pepper-Up potion, but she only had twelve labels. Sighing, Martha put down the clipboard and began writing out new labels.

The sound of grinding teeth drifted over to her ears. Grinning, Martha ignored him. He'd come to his own decisions – or he wouldn't – and either way, getting these potions ready was more important than dealing with a sulking Time Lord.

She had long since reached a compromise with Poppy. Martha was a battlefield medic – among other things – and would stabilize the wounded and get them to the hospital wing; Poppy would take it from there. Pepper-Up, it turned out, provided energy and a boost to internal organs – and increased survival time on critical and near-critical injuries by over 200%.

"We've got incoming, darlings!" Throwing open the doors to the infirmary, Jack swaggered in, blue coat flying.

Martha turned, raising an eyebrow. "I'm _not_ your anything, Jack."

Jack waved a hand, staring out the window. "They're here. A group of Aurors is in the process of burning down the front doors. They'll be inside soon."

Setting her clipboard carefully down, Martha slipped the labels into a pocket. "You've got word?"

"Tonks came and found me. River Song's holding them off," Jack said casually. Turning away from the window, he made steady eye contact with her. "Time to go to war, Martha Jones."

The Doctor sat upright, eyebrow raised. "River? I told her –"

Jack laughed darkly. "River can hold her own. I met her when I was with the Agency."

"Yeah, she might have mentioned that," the Doctor said in a small strangled noise. Martha took this to mean that River and Jack had shared a bed and had then made a point of it in front of the Doctor, and continued grabbing bottles. "Martha, what are you doing?"

She tucked one last vial into an inside pocket and then turned to face him. "Preparing. I'm the field medic, or what passes for one. My boys can take care of themselves, now that they've got marching orders. I'm off to save someone's life – more than that, if I can, but one is all I'm hoping for. And you, Doctor? What are you doing?"

The Doctor flopped back on the bed. "I don't know," he told the ceiling. "I can't fight – _you_ can understand that, Martha, I can't fight, _he's_ on the other side and I can't go out and face – my TARDIS is stuck – once people get here, I can help, but there's nothing – I don't know, you tell_ me!_ What am I doing? No use, no help, can't fight, can't heal, can't do a bloody thing but sit here and watch people get hurt –"

"You can save the children," Jack said suddenly, his American accent standing out more than ever in the face of the Doctor's ramble. "We didn't have a chance to evacuate the school and there are a thousand terrified children hiding in the dungeons right now. Go and protect them, Doctor. Save the children."

Letting the Doctor come to his own decision on this, Martha checked her pockets. She was wearing her jet-black UNIT uniform, with its loads and loads of pockets. They weren't dimensionally transcendental, like his were, but they were as close as human tech could get. "Jack, I'm ready."

Jack nodded. "Same. Let's go then."

"And me?" the Doctor put in. "Am I – you want me out of sight, unable to get involved, unable to –" He strangled to a halt, shaking his head. "No, no, no, those are others, those are not –"

Jack's face closed off as he looked silently down at the Doctor. "The dungeons are where the students are. It's your choice whether you go or not."

The Doctor looked stunned at this, something that sent a chill down Martha's spine: the idea of a choice was confusing to him. How used must he be to orders and no-win situations that to be put in a position where he had an actual _choice_ was more terrifying than either of the options?

Outside something exploded. "Jack Harkness, get your flaming _ass_ down here before I kill you!"

Martha grinned. "Jack, your _ex_ is calling."

"She's not – how is she doing that?" For once Jack seemed off balance, something that Martha was determined to revel in for as long as possible.

"Sonorus Charm," the Doctor said, abruptly shoving himself back into the conversation in much the same ungainly manner as he propelled himself off the bed. "She's probably broadcasting through the entire castle right now, trying to get your attention. Good for her," he muttered, much quieter, in an undertone she probably wasn't supposed to catch. "So – dungeons?"

Martha laughed, checking the latch on her regulation gun. "Yeah, Doctor – I'll get the injured. Jack'll make sure there aren't any more. You go protect the children." Grinning, she ran towards the door, grabbing Jack's sleeve on the way. "Let's go save your ex."

They clattered down the stairs, followed shortly by the Doctor, swinging his long brown coat on. At the bottom of the stairs, close enough to the fighting to hear the yells, they came to a collective halt. The Doctor swallowed, staring at her. "Stay safe, Martha. I can't – if something happens, I won't be close enough."

Hands on her hips, she smiled up at him. "Then I won't let anything happen, will I? Go rescue the children, Doctor. I'll be fine."

He smiled – not a proper one, not one that reached his eyes, but a smile nonetheless – and turned for the dungeon stairs, coat flapping.

Jack shook his head. "Never a word for me, the wanker. Let's go kick ass, Martha. Show River how it's done."

Jointly, they ran for the entrance hall, leaving dust and silence in their wake.

* * *

Nine hundred seventy eight children in a space meant for a quarter as many. Severus was thirty seconds away from cursing the lot of them.

It was a decision that, on a logical level, he understood. There was one entrance into the Slytherin half of the dungeons, one narrow staircase that, in a pinch, two spell casters could defend. There was food and water from the storerooms, and there were enough spare classrooms that could be converted into dormitories. And it made sense to leave him in charge. He was the second strongest wizard they had, after Minerva, and the most versatile, just ahead of Black. He was obsessive, dedicated, and stubborn to his last bone. He would die down here before he let the intruders lay a finger on the students and Minerva knew that.

It also took the last shard of his loyalty that belonged to Albus and swung it firmly to the new Headmistress. He was in sole control of nine hundred seventy eight students, and if he wanted to, he could turn the whole lot over to the Ministry.

He wouldn't. There wasn't a price in the damn world that would get him to betray the only home he'd ever had, and Minerva knew that.

Albus never had.

But the point was that there were two hundred and forty four Gryffindors and two hundred and forty _five_ Slytherins in the Slytherin home territory, and the whole thing was five seconds from exploding messily.

"Mr Potter," Severus said, enunciating clearly out of a misplaced hope that it would keep him from _strangling_ the brat, "which part of 'remain with your House' are you so clearly _failing_ to understand?"

Looking up at him, Potter scowled. "I should be out there." The hallway Potter was standing in was well lit, but Severus was standing at the foot of the only stairs, his face half in shadow and fully aware of how he looked while doing it.

Severus levelled his best glare at the boy. He could see Harry clearly in the light from the torches; his own face was much darker, harder to read. He preferred it that way. "No."

"What?" Potter said, looking more confused than usual – which was an impressive feat, considering.

"No," Severus repeated with a smirk. "You should not be out there. The only students who have _any_ grounds for that request are the seventh years, and, as you may have noticed, they are already gone."

Potter gave him a blank, uncomprehending look. "Sir?"

Merlin help him, but he wasn't actually sure if that qualified as progress. "Perhaps you should spend more time talking with Miss Granger. Maybe she can explain the definitions of the phrases 'enlistment age' and 'child soldier' to you as I do not have the time for this."

"I – the Prophecy!" Potter shouted, eyes wide and frantic. Some small part of Severus' mind recognized the symptoms and sympathized: alone and scared and _convinced_ that the adults were missing information and wanting so badly to help but trapped without any way to do so.

The rest of him just filed the information away, tucking it into the ball of hate and loss and fear titled _Potter_ in his head. "Would you like to shout that a little louder, Potter? I don't think the Dark Lord's forces heard you yet."

Potter snarled, breathing hard. "I'm _important_, you can't keep me down here with the _firsties_."

It took everything Severus had to take his temper and shove it down again. "You are operating under a _delusion_, Mr Potter. You are _painfully_ unimportant in this battle. The other subject of the prophecy is _dead_, its contents invalidated. Putting you on that battlefield would be a waste of whoever has to guard your useless body, do I make myself clear?"

"I can fight!"

Severus very, very carefully resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Or curse the boy. Possibly both. "You would be a distraction. In addition, Mr Potter, you _will_ show me some respect."

Potter very visibly _did_ roll his eyes, to Severus' ever mounting annoyance. "_Sir_," he said, in the most arrogant tone _possible_, "you are underestimating my capabilities."

Making a mental note to murder, as soon as possible, whoever had taught Potter to control his temper, Severus loomed over the brat. "Mr Potter, you have no capabilities. This is not a battle you would be of any use in. In the interests of your own safety, I would _enthusiastically_ recommend that you return to your House. _Now_."

A hand grabbed onto his shoulder, neatly avoiding both the nerve clusters and a clump of scar tissue there. "Harry!" The voice, that Severus could only assume was attached to the hand, although since he had slept all of two hours in the past thirty-six, he really did not know, was loud, high-pitched, and hyper. "And Sev – can I call you that? _Sev_, Sev, Sevvie – no – Sev, it just rolls off the tongue, don't you think?"

Pushed beyond the limits of his endurance, Severus spun, throwing off the hand and letting his wand tip rest in the hollow of his intruder's neck. "I do not use that name."

The man took a step backwards, hit the stairs with his ankle, and wobbled for a moment before grabbing onto Severus' wrist for balance. "So sorry, very very sorry – oh." Eyes that were just distinguishable in the near-dark snapped into focus on his. "You – Li- right. She called you that."

Severus snarled, tearing his wrist free and making sure that his wand was pressing firmly into the other man's neck. "Doctor, if you wish to keep your sanity, do _not_ mention her again."

The Doctor held up his hands, giving him the sort of wide-eyed innocent look that Severus normally associated with puppies and very small children. "I know what it's like," he said softly, too quiet for Potter to hear.

"You do not," Severus spat, resisting the urge to carry out his threat.

Stepping forward, around the wand, the Doctor maintained eye contact. "There was – she was important. To me. And it was my fault – but she's gone. So I know. What that's like." He shrugged gracelessly. "But that's not important right now," he said, abruptly changing the conversation. "What's important is that we keep these children safe."

"I'm _not_ a child!" Potter stepped forward, apparently upset that he was being left out.

The Doctor raised an eyebrow, the motion visible even in the shadowy light, and crouched down to Potter's level. "Harry, how old are you?"

Severus was grudgingly impressed that, even given the topic, the Doctor managed to keep from sounding condescending and actually seemed interested in the answer.

Potter was still scowling, but he looked vaguely more engaged. "Fifteen."

"And unless I'm very much mistaken – don't look so surprised, it does happen – well, sometimes – well, not very often at all, only when someone else is involved – which is a surprisingly frequent occurrence – _anyway_, you won't be an adult here until you're seventeen, am I right?" The Doctor smiled charmingly at Potter.

Wrinkling his nose, Potter nodded grudgingly. "Yes."

The Doctor straightened, beaming. "Well then. Since enlistment age virtually always corresponds with adulthood, you can't go fight. Sorry."

"I'm _necessary_," Potter said, earnestness shining all over his face. It made Severus twitch.

The Doctor frowned, staring down at Potter. "Do me a favour, Severus," he said, turning to face him, abruptly sober, "and explain to Harry – politely, please – what war is. I'll go make friends."

For reasons that Severus never understood, he nodded, giving a glance of respect to the other man. The Doctor nodded back, eyes dark, before wandering off down the corridor, stopping to talk to every student he passed.

* * *

It really should have been raining. Raining would have provided a proper feeling of solemnity to the whole thing. But no. It was crystal clear and sunny, which must have been a first for northern Scotland.

Jack put another bullet through the head of a Death Eater, got hit by a Killing Curse, died, came back, and killed the man who'd tried it. He was _done_ with this, he just wanted the fighting to stop, but they kept coming.

He'd long since lost track of anyone else in the muck, long given up on finding his men, long forgotten about doing anything else but steadily and systematically killing everyone who got in his way. The only things he was certain of were that Kingsley Shacklebolt was dead and Lucius Malfoy was still very much alive. He wasn't sure what he thought of either of these. He was too busy fighting.

Behind him, he heard a scream. "_Jack!_"

He spun, pistol raised, to meet Martha's eyes. "What the –"

Martha remained perfectly still, hands raised, as the wand at her head never faltered. "Tell him it's not his fault," she said quietly, swallowing. "He won't believe you, but tell him anyway."

The short woman in pink – really? _Pink?_ – on the other end of the wand, scowled. It made her look more like a toad. "Now, there's no need for this to get unpleasant. Just tell your little soldiers to surrender and we can all go have a chat about your very bad decisions."

Martha snarled, face twisting into a rictus. "You _bitch_. You complete and utter _bitch_. I've had enough of your little _games_." Twisting for her gun, she spun, jabbing it into the woman's side. "Game over."

"_Avada –_"

_Bang._

"– _Kedavra!_"

A gunshot wound didn't kill instantly, and never in his _life_ had Jack regretted that more. Martha fell first, eyes blank and glassy. The woman went after, clutching at her side, already dying from blood loss and shock.

Face cold, Jack crossed the empty space between them, prepping his gun. Looking steadily down at the woman he, for once in his sorry life, felt no guilt for what he was about to do. "She was a good woman," he told the toad. "She had a husband and a son. She had a friend who will take issue with what I'm about to do, but I really don't care right now."

He pulled the trigger, watching with a vengeful terror as her head vaporized, spraying blood everywhere. The remains of her skull were visible on his pant leg and he mechanically shifted to scrape them off with the heel of his boot.

It didn't make sense. Martha Jones was dead. The sentence didn't make sense. Even after the next time he died and came back, it still didn't make any sense. Because she _didn't_ come back, she just laid on the ground, limbs splayed, gun resting in one hand.

Tucking his own gun into its holster, he bent down and lifted her up. She deserved better. Martha Jones deserved better than a mass grave after the battle. Crossing the hordes, he headed directly for the castle. The Doctor should know. He wouldn't take it well, but he had a right to know. The three of them. One last time.


	66. The Road to Hell, V

**A/N: So the muse is back, but I **_**still**_** haven't begun to work on the 400****th**** and 500****th**** review one-shots. Sorry.**

**Thanks to: Wonderbee31, Starcrystal8, JoojooBrother Ptroxsora, Stellarsong, Lyra the Heretic, Kudo Shinichi Tanteisan, Ashlee Pond, Jayie the Hufflepuff, blue dragon of the 13, LilyLunaPotter142, Jimbobob5536, and Iamthe42.**

**Fun Fact of the Day: Regeneration was invented as a way to deal with the impending departure of William Hartnell and the increasing popularity of the show. Hartnell was too sick to continue working, and the show was too popular to cancel. So someone came up with regeneration and hired Patrick Troughton to play the Second Doctor.**

* * *

The Doctor stared at the body. "My fault." He reached out a trembling hand and closed her eyes.

"No," Jack said suddenly, looking at him. "She was very clear about that."

Swallowing, the Doctor leaned against the stone wall for support. He was standing at the top of the stairwell. Jack was in front of him, Martha's body in his arms. "My fault," he whispered again, staring at the floor. "If I hadn't – all my fault. Always my fault."

Underneath, his mind was racing, over and over again. He could loop time, could change this or that, could take his TARDIS, could destroy the Time Lock, could alter things so the battle never had to happen – and over and over again he ran up against his rules.

_Rule 3: Fixed points in time are _fixed._ I will not interfere with them._

_Rule 4: I will avoid paradoxes at all costs._

He ran a hand through his hair. "What am I supposed to do, Jack?" he muttered, not really expecting a response. "I do something, people die. I do nothing, people die. I try to protect them, they still die. What is the point of me? All they do is die."

"Doctor –"

He looked up, eyes still wide and blank, to see River rushing toward him. Her hair was still in its tight bun, but everything else was in various shades of disarray. "River. She's dead."

River came to an abrupt halt, face draining of all blood. "Oh, _sweetie_," she said, and the amount of emotion and apologies and forgiveness she could pack into those two syllables was astounding. "You – never mind. I can deal with it."

"No." He grabbed onto the change in topic like a lifeline. "What? I can help."

She gave him a penetrating look. "I can't find Tonks."

For a second, the sentence didn't make sense. Of course River couldn't find Tonks, River wasn't in charge of Tonks, he was, and he – didn't know where Tonks was. Face pale, he glanced at the ground before looking back at River. "Right. Ah – where was she last? When you saw her. Where did you last see her?"

River swallowed, tensing. "On the battlefield."

And suddenly things were very clear. "Move." Stepping out of the stairwell, he put a hand on Jack's shoulder, spinning him out of his way. "Move," he said again, staring down River.

"No," she said, chin up. "Not until you tell me what you're going to do."

He froze, hearts pounding, breath coming fast and short. "I'm going to find her."

River remained still, blocking his path. "Yes, Doctor, but what if she's –"

"She isn't," he spat, giving up on waiting and putting a hand on River's shoulder to move her out of the way. He had to go, had to save Tonks, that was his responsibility, his task.

She failed to move. "Doctor – the odds." Her voice shook. "You have to be prepared, sweetie. She went into _battle_."

He looked at her – really _looked_ – for the first time in ages. She was tired and nervous – and scared. No, not just scared – terrified. He could see it in the way she locked her knees to keep them from trembling, in the way she kept stroking her gun, in the way her eyes were slightly too wide and her pupils dilated. "River –"

"No." She shook her head, the motion far too fast. "You don't want to know the answer to that question."

He locked eyes with her, turning to face her full on. "River – you – why – why are you scared of me? I wouldn't – I would _never_ –" He shook his head, suddenly releasing his grasp on her shoulder. "River –"

She looked at him sadly, fear receding – but not far enough for his comfort. "I'm not afraid _of_ you, sweetie. I'm afraid _for_ you. You've lost one companion already, and I – I know what that does to you. What'll happen when –"

"I am not _losing_ a second," he bit out. Taking a moment to stabilize, shoving the emotions down, he shuddered briefly before controlling that to. "You're lying," he said coolly, calmly.

River flinched, as if the words were weapons that slammed into her. "I –" She stared at him, face closing off rapidly until even the fear was gone.

He looked down at her, face still. "You _are_ afraid of me, River Song. You're afraid of what happens when I get upset."

"Doctor," Jack said warningly.

The Doctor turned on the immortal, drawing himself up – and then fell to his knees as _pain_ blasted through his head, searing shattering _pain_.

Someone screamed, the noise going on and on and on, a broadcast of agony that never ended.

It took him a while to realize it was him.

It took him longer to figure out that the burning wasn't his skin but the human and the part-human wrapped around him.

He never did get control of the pain reverberating through his head, the headache from hell but so much –_ so much_ – more, pain that was unimaginable minutes before, pain that built on pain that built on pain.

"What's wrong?" Jack, worried and tense and all muscles, forehead resting on his own.

"He – he's keeping it off of me. He's _protecting_ me."

_No need to sound so astonished, River_, he wanted to say. _Of course I am_.

But the pain wouldn't let him speak.

Instead he cried, the tears silent as they slipped down his cheeks, and he screamed, the sound of an animal in unbearable pain.

He knew, vaguely, what was happening. His synapses were rerouting, changing, allowing for pathways he hadn't used in centuries. But they were being forced to do so, and so that hurt, shards of pain spiking through him.

"Sweetie – sweetie, can you hear me?"

Of course he could hear her, his ears weren't affected, only his mind – pain pain pain _pain_ – he nodded, once.

"Can you tell me what's going on?"

Panting, he forced himself to look at her. Pain pain pain _pain_ a drumbeat inside his head throbbing throbbing _pain_. It wasn't getting better, it was just changing, attacking other areas of his mind, allowing him to talk. "The Lock is open." He stared at her eyes, hoping they would provide answers he didn't have.

She shut her eyes first, swallowing. "Something from the War, then."

He couldn't look any longer. The muscles in his neck clenched and he screamed at the ceiling. His head was shattering, his brain oozing out his ears, pain pain pain _pain_.

"Is something the matter?"

"Go away, Severus. Go protect the students. We'll deal with him." Jack again, head pulling back so hair brushed his cheek.

"You don't seem to be."

The Doctor looked at him, lips peeled back from teeth, eyes wide. "Do you have a headache?"

Severus shook his head slowly. "No. Is this –"

"Then it's being dealt with." He whimpered, panting, trying to shove the pain back.

"You're holding it," River said softly. "All of us?"

Oh good. Something he could talk about, and maybe ignore the pain. Maybe not. "A weapon. For telepaths. Some wizards – minor talent. See?"

River forced eye contact. "_All_ of us?"

He cried out again, wailing. "No… _Most_."

"Open up," she said coolly. "Let me share it."

"_No!_" He scrambled out of their grip, almost cracking his head against the floor in his effort to get away. "No. You wouldn't – no." Panting, panicked, he barely noticed as the pain started to recede.

Bowing his head, he wrapped his arms around his bent legs and waited. "It's gone again. Someone found it."

River touched his cheek. "Found what?"

He opened his eyes and looked at her. "I don't know what it looks like. I was never on that side of the war. But there is a weapon that can take a telepath's mind and open it to _everything_. The result is the worst pain imaginable and the collapse of your opponent's intelligence network. Or, since it was invented by the Daleks and used against us – the Time Lords, the collapse of everything."

"And someone shut it off," she finished. "Is this – good?"

A tear dripping from his cheek, sweat-soaked and mentally exhausted, the Doctor looked up at her. "I don't know. I really don't know."

"_Doctor. I have the girl. Your forces will surrender now."_

The Doctor screamed as the thought tore through his mind, destroying the few repairs he had made.

The others heard it too, all of them. "Doctor? Was that the Master?"

Nodding, he stood weakly, legs trembling. Leaning on River, he looked first at Jack, and then Severus. "Yeah. That was him. But you know what?" He grinned, and sure, he knew it was fragile and painful and full of sharp edges, but that was him all over, wasn't it? "She's still alive."

"She is," and that was a _real_ grin from River. "So what's the plan?"

Right. That was the other half of it. "Ah – wait." He stretched out to Time, just slightly. "The Lock around us came down. Probably about the time the weapon fired up. And the Corsair's TARDIS is here – that'd be the Master. Oh!" He spun around, delighted. "The Master stayed outside for the battle, letting us get worn down, and then dropped the Lock, threw the weapon in to destabilize us, and is now demanding terms."

River smiled, shaking her head at him. "Thanks for the analysis. And? Plan?"

"Do what he says," the Doctor told her, abruptly sober. "Surrender."

She blinked. "Since when has that been a plan?"

He stared at her sadly, violently aware that she was from his future and apparently he had changed. A lot. "Do it, River. Jack. Get them to stop fighting. It's over. We've lost."

* * *

Why – _why_ – did things always result in her and the Master in a room together? He never _did_ anything, which was bloody fortunate, because she was in a bad enough mood to rip his balls of and not even care about the consequences. No, she just sat on a bed, glaring at him, and he leaned on the door of her new cell and pretended not to care.

Bloody super-villains always acting like twelve-year-olds.

"They're not coming for you," he said casually.

She flipped him off, and fell backwards to stare at the ceiling.

The Master made a noise that probably indicated he was rolling his eyes. "They're not. You've been _abandoned_. They're pulling their troops back, and the Doctor has disappeared somewhere. He's not coming."

Sitting up, Tonks gave him her best impression of the Doctor's raised eyebrow. "You know what I just figured out? You're upset."

"Am not," the Master muttered, but he sounded intrigued.

She laughed. "You are. Bloody ticked off, and why? Because you're right. He's not coming back. He's _ignoring_ you. But I'll go one better. You've _lost_. He's gone, and he won't be coming back. And even if he wanted to, we won't let him."

The Master stiffened, turning his back on her. Instantly, he froze, hands deep in his pockets. "No –"

In the hall outside, the TARDIS had materialized, silently for once. She hadn't been looking, she'd been focused on the Master, but _still_. The Doctor had his head stuck out, grinning, and now followed it with the rest of his body. "Ah, sorry about that, Tonks. I lied. Bad thing, lying. Really keep meaning to give it up, but somehow can't quite get around to it." Turning to the Master, he waved a cheery hand. "Hello!"

All of her amusement vanished. "No – but – you have to go!" He couldn't be here, he was supposed to be away and _safe_. She didn't matter, but he did and he _couldn't_ surrender himself for her.

The Doctor gave her an all-too-familiar look. "No, I don't. You do. You're supposed to be here." He made a gesture that indicated that 'here' was England, or possibly the Earth. "This is your story. Not mine. It never was."

Tonks shook her head frantically, struggling not to panic. "No! You were going to save us!" She was doing this for _him_, couldn't he see that? If she was imprisoned, he could get away, leave if he needed to, do whatever he wanted. She was willing to do that, if it meant he was free.

"I'm trying," the Doctor said sardonically.

The Master stepped towards him, snarling. "Stop that! Last time –"

The Doctor raised an eyebrow at him. "I set up a plan to bring you down. Don't worry. Tonks isn't – isn't another Martha."

Tonks wasn't certain whether this was a compliment or not, but it would have been impossible to miss the way the Doctor winced before saying the name.

Keen eyes flicking over the Doctor, the Master sighed. "The TARDIS key."

The Doctor smirked, pulling his key out from a pocket and holding it out. "Here you go. Won't help though." He snapped his fingers. The TARDIS disappeared, leaving an empty space where it used to be.

The Master gave the Doctor a sceptical look. "That won't save you. I know where she is."

Grinning, the Doctor shoved his hands in his pockets. "Where isn't a problem. _When_ is."

"No –" The Master stared at the other Time Lord, shaking his head slowly. "Even you couldn't be so _impossibly_ stupid."

The Doctor bounced on the balls of his feet.

Even given the situation, Tonks struggled not to grin. It was just so typically _him_ to be delighted with his shoddy plan.

"She's behind a Time Lock," the Doctor said excitedly. "You're not getting her now."

The Master's returning stare was bone-chillingly empty. "Neither can you."

Tonks shuddered, swallowing to clear her throat. "Doctor – what are you doing?"

The Doctor grinned at her, the sight less comforting than terrifying. "A very, very clever thing. I propose an exchange," he told the Master. "My life for hers. No. My life for every other life on this planet. You get me. Everyone else gets left alone."

One of the Master's eyebrows shot up. "You're giving your life an awfully high value. I didn't think even _your_ ego was so large as to equate yourself to a planet."

The Doctor smiled, eyes sad. "I'm not. You are."

The Master froze, head jerking upright. After a moment, he nodded. "Fine. It's a deal. You stay here – I let her go."

"And the rest of them," the Doctor said insistently, stepping forward. "Let her go and put someone else in charge. Quit killing."

The Master tilted his head. "No. I'll leave your humans alone, but not the rest." He smirked. "That's the best deal you're gonna get, Doctor. I would take it. Actually, _I_ wouldn't take it, but we're talking about you."

The Doctor looked at him, the two standing close enough to touch.

It was a study in contrasts, Tonks thought. The two Time Lords – one short, one tall, both with brown hair but one controlled and the other very not, one dark in the very way he stood, the other shining with light and ideas and energy.

"Agreed," the Doctor said finally. "Now let her go. _Nicely_."

The Master rolled his eyes, but pulled out two wands. Tapping one against the door of her cell, he held out the other. "Yours."

Standing, Tonks gave him a glare. "You're letting me go. Just like that. Giving me my wand and letting me walk out."

"If you question me," the Master snapped.

The Doctor cleared his throat and levelled a clear glare at the other Time Lord.

The Master looked away and shifted his weight. "Yes. I am."

Tonks struggled to hold in a smile, struggled even more to keep from telling them to get a room, and crossed to the door of her cell. Taking her wand from the Master, she looked at the Doctor. "I'll be back. We won't let you stay here alone."

The Master mouthed a phrase that looked suspiciously like 'he won't be _alone_', but didn't say anything.

The Doctor smiled, it not quite reaching his eyes. "I'm sure. Don't put yourself in danger for me. I lost you once."

She crossed her arms, her wand dangling from one hand. "If you _think_ Jack and the Corsair and everyone else – if you _think_ we'll just let you stay here – time to teach you differently."

The Doctor grinned, for real. "Good for you, then."

"_Go_," the Master snapped, temper fraying. "Before I change my mind."

Tonks gave the Doctor one last nod, and then spun on her heel, Disapparating.

* * *

_Next time on Doctor Who – Episode 14: Ragnarok_

"_River?"_

"_I'm clothed!"_

"_Is that normally a problem?"_

…

"_What the hell was that?"_

"_I don't know."_

"_The _hell_ you don't. This was one of your plans! What did you _do_?"_

"_Go. I'm sure it's one of mine. Or more. Could be more of mine. Go capture them or chase them off or whatever. You won't think about anything else until you've dealt with them."_

…

"_You could just kill him. He's got to be a traitor to _someone_ in this room. Shoot him and be done with it."_

"_I could kill _you_. Pretty sure you're the bigger threat."_

"_You haven't."_

"_Because he wouldn't like it. Only reason."_

…

"_I have a _plan_, and everything has to be carefully timed. And one of the things that means, River, is that you can't kill people on a whim right now."_

"_It was not a _whim_."_

"_He is not a threat to me. His loyalty is to Harry Potter and Hogwarts."_

…

"_That was a bit more painful than remembered."_

"_Reminder that –"_

"_Stop it. Please. I don't – this is going to be bad enough. Don't bring up last time."_

…

"_I don't come like a _dog_ when you call."_

"_Evidently, you do."_

"_Shut up. Just so you know, none of this was my idea."_


	67. Ragnarok, I

**A/N: heh heh heh. I went to a party last night (like an **_**actual**_** party with food and drinks and **_**socializing**_**) which is why this chapter's a bit late.**

**Thanks to: Dragoneisha, DragonRose4, Ptroxsora, blue dragon of the 13, FlyingLovegood123, Wonderbee31, Ashlee Pond, Iamthe42, LilyLunaPotter142, and Jimbobob5536.**

**Fun Fact of the Day: David Tennant didn't know anything about River Song other than what was in the script when they filmed the Library episodes. His confusion at her character is completely real. He later said he'd decided she was a later Doctor.**

* * *

_Transcript segment: June 2__nd__, 1996, 3:45 pm._

_Location: Hogwarts Castle, Scotland, United Kingdom, Alternate Earth._

_Participants: Captain Jack Harkness, human, unaffiliated, f. Torchwood, f. UNIT. The Corsair, alias Sirus Black, Time Lord, unaffiliated, f. Order of the Phoenix. Nymphadora Tonks, human, unaffiliated, f. Order of the Phoenix. River Song, human/Time Lord, unaffiliated, f. CLASSIFIED._

_Notes: Review before plan implemented. Jack & Tonks loyal, 75% chance Corsair is. 86% chance Tonks emotionally affected by the Doctor's capture. _

Jack: This is a very bad idea.

Corsair: No, it really isn't.

Tonks: It probably says something about this plan that _Jack_ is the voice of sanity.

Corsair: Did you have a better idea?

Tonks: No. I'm just saying – if Jack Harkness is questioning your plan, it's probably not the best idea.

River: Sounds like one of his plans.

Jack: And he's _always_ such a voice of sanity.

Corsair: Yeah, well, Time Lord. We think the same.

Tonks: There's a terrifying thought.

River: Terrifying was _not_ the word I was going to use.

Jack: Down, River. Children.

River: Not in this room, there aren't. Remember? Harry left sometime between Jack trying to flirt with a ghost and the actual proposal of the plan.

_New reference: Harry Potter, human, Order of the Phoenix._

Jack: That was fun.

Tonks: You do realize ghosts are _dead_, right?

Jack: Fun things you can do with ectoplasm.

Tonks: Do not want to know!

Jack: River wanted to know.

River: I expressed some interest – it's not my area of expertise.

Jack: Do you want it to be?

Corsair: Could we get back on track?

Tonks: Probably not.

Corsair: _Tonks_.

Tonks: Sorry. Last time we were on track, we were talking about breaking in and rescuing him.

Jack: Which, for the record, I still think is a very bad idea.

Tonks: Do we have a record?

River: I've been recording it.

Jack: _Why_?

River: Because I find it amusing to go back and listen to you act like an idiot. Also, it can be helpful if I meet you at an earlier point in your time stream.

Jack: Also, you have a bad tendency to be an anal-retentive bitch.

_Pause. Sounds of movement. A groan, a pause, and then the sound of wrestling. _

Corsair: Are we good now?

Jack: Never! I will fight –

_More sounds. A loud thud, followed by a groan._

River: Yes. We're good.

Corsair: He's holed up here. Resigned as both Minister for Magic and PM. No one's seen him for weeks.

Tonks: Except –

Corsair: Except for Death Eaters. They're still seeing him on a regular basis, according to Severus.

_New reference: Severus Snape, human, Death Eater/Order of the Phoenix._

_Data point attached: Probability that Severus is loyal = 83% ± 3_

Jack: Stupid plan.

River: Jack, I will smack you again if you make one more useless comment.

Jack: Abuse! Abuse! I'm getting abused!

River: You're _welcome_ to hit me back if I deserve it.

Corsair: He has anti-Apparation wards up constantly – _except_ when there is a meeting. If anyone has a better idea –

River: It's relatively straight forward. Get Severus to get us in. Break him out. Leave. Anything after that can be worked out once we have him back.

Corsair: What she said.

_Laugher._

Corsair: Right, I think we're good. Tomorrow at 9. We might not be back for a while, so be ready.

Jack: Yes, Corsair, because this is my first rescue mission.

Corsair: Jack, shut up.

* * *

"River?"

"I'm clothed!" River bit her bottom lip, trying to work out which suitcase to take.

Tonks came into her room quietly, eyes flickering.

River waited quietly. It had been four weeks since the battle, four weeks of repairing and rebuilding and helping people start a new life. Four weeks of chewing her fingernails to nubs every night because he was gone and he was hurting and there was _nothing_ she could do about it but wait, wait for things to recover, wait for information, wait and wait and wait.

Tonks looked at her, shifting her weight. "Is that normally a problem?"

"Hm?" River's brain caught up with the situation. "Oh. Yeah. Well, his next regeneration is a little more absent minded, and a little worse at human conventions – of which, personal privacy seems to be one he's particularly bad at."

Tonks grinned. "Considering how bad this one is, I can't even imagine."

River laughed, finally deciding on a case and flipping it open. "Oh, dearie, you haven't a _hope_."

"What are you doing?" Tonks sounded curious as she crossed the room, peering at the case River had set on her bed.

Gun – check. Knife – check. Ammo – check, check, and check. Grenade – missing. "Prepping." Where was – her jacket was hanging from a hook on the back of the door. Rapidly, River crossed the room and began going through its pockets. "I have a half-dozen different cases – each has an outfit and gear for a different setting. So all I have to do is pull out a case and I'm set. Except that apparently I didn't refill this one after the last time I needed it." Pulling out three grenades, she returned to the bed and slipped them into their spots.

Tonks sat on the bed, carefully far away from the case. "Oh. But your pockets?"

Flipping the case shut, she twisted the latch on top and then opened it again. Bra – check. Shirt – torn. "Yes," she said absently, pulling out the scraps of ruined fabric. Now why had she even _kept_ that? It was – oh. Because on the bottom he had taken her lipstick and scrawled TD&RS inside a double heart. Closing her eyes, she clenched the shirt tightly.

"River – why can't you just keep it all in your pockets?"

It was habit to fold the shirt neatly, self-preservation that kept the drawing on the inside. "Because if I did, I would never be able to find anything. Keeping the majority of it in cases makes things easier to find." Pulling a small suitcase out of her trouser pocket – it was easiest if she didn't look while she was doing it – she cast Tonks a brief look. "You're not to tell him about any of this."

Tonks shook her head. "'Cause you're from his future. I'm not _stupid_."

"Never said you were," River responded amiably. The ruined shirt went into the suitcase, and the suitcase returned to her pocket. It was the case of everything she couldn't let him see – the suitcase that contained her heart. "So, Nymphadora Tonks – why are you here?" Another suitcase came out, this one with stacks of identical camouflage shirts. Grabbing one, she shut the case and returned it to its pocket.

"Does there have to be a reason?"

River grinned. "There usually is, I find." Right, so, bra, shirt, panties, trousers, socks, four hair ties, vest – pockets not dimensionally transcendental, too much risk of losing it – utility belt.

Tonks huffed, blowing her purple fringe away from her eyes. "I vomited," she said casually, laying back on the bed and staring at the ceiling.

That got River's attention. Looking up from the case, she examined the young woman carefully. "After the battle?"

She nodded silently, not making eye contact.

"You wanna know a secret?" River asked, sitting on the bed next to Tonks. "So did I." She smiled slightly. "After every battle. And I know it's been a bad one if he _doesn't_. We all do it. As you get more experienced, you just get better at hiding it."

Tonks grunted. "I'm worried."

River gave her a fond look. "We all are. With himself gone – he's more powerful than he likes to let on. And the Master knows exactly which buttons to press. I know he's spent a year with the Master before, but not alone. There's a possibility, Tonks, you have to be prepared – the man we get back might not be the same one who went in."

"Regeneration?" Tonks whispered, looking at her with worried eyes.

River shook her head. "I can only hope. With the Master's sense of amusement – who knows."


	68. Ragnarok, II

**A/N: Sorry, but I'm running late for a busy morning. Thanks to all my reviewers! (I don't have time to track you all down) Also, apologies in advance for this chapter...**

* * *

The Doctor looked up as his cell door creaked open. "You know, if you keep doing that, I might get the impression that you _care_ about me."

The Master rolled his eyes. "_Someone _has to feed you. And I don't trust anyone else."

"They can't kill me," the Doctor said, off hand. "Not really."

Setting the bowl down on the bedside table, the Master gave him a glare. "I didn't know you wanted to regenerate."

The Doctor smiled. "Do you want me to?"

"No," the Master told him, quickly. "I don't _have_ to be here, you know."

Completely ignoring the food – it wasn't necessary, and they both knew that – the Doctor shrugged. "I know. Yet here you are."

The Master stuck his hands in his pockets. "You really are a bastard when you're imprisoned, you know that?"

"There's an easy solution to that," the Doctor said, grinning.

This earned him a glare before the Master began pacing the room. "What's your plan?" he asked suddenly.

The Doctor laughed. "Don't got one."

"Liar."

Shrugging, the Doctor swung his legs over the end of the bed. "If that's what you want to believe."

The Master stared at him, breathing hard. "You _infuriate _me, you know. I _hate _you more than I've ever hated anything."

"I know," the Doctor told him, standing up. "I know you do. And I know that somewhere deep inside is a frightened little boy lashing out at the world."

Snarling, the Master slapped him. "_Don't_."

Reaching one hand up to rub his cheek, the Doctor looked at him sadly. "Koschei –"

Moving surprisingly fast, the Master grabbed his chin, pulling him down for a bruising kiss. Their lips clashed painfully and the Doctor whimpered, knees threatening to give way. After a second, the Master pulled away, staring intently at the Doctor.

The Doctor remained where he was, reaching one hand up to touch his lip. It came away bloody. "Stockholm Syndrome," he said blankly.

"What?" The Master turned, falling against the wall, peculiarly graceless.

Applying pressure to his lip, the Doctor sat back down on his bed. Removing his hand, he said, "We shouldn't do this."

The Master let his head crack against the wall. "There is no_ this_ to do."

"Right," the Doctor said, ignoring how much that hurt. "But not while I'm your prisoner."

Sighing, the Master stared at the floor. "No. I guess not."

The Doctor rolled his eyes. "That doesn't mean not _ever_. Just not – _now_."

"You always were a stickler for consent," the Master muttered, leaning into the wall, almost as if for support.

Swallowing, trying hard to ignore that it had been hundreds of years since they had last kissed and it looked to be hundreds until the next time, the Doctor stood, crossing the room. "And how many times did anything happen while I was drunk?"

The Master growled. "Shut up."

The Doctor placed a hand on the Master's shoulder. "Why? I'm not just going to let you forget it."

"That's what you did," the Master spat, not moving.

Ignoring that flash of pain, the Doctor squeezed the Master's shoulder gently. "Let me go. Let me go and I'll get my TARDIS back and we can go wherever you want, just the two of us again. Together. Always. I'll fix the Time Lock, River can get everyone else back, the only person I'll be with is you –"

From somewhere overhead there came the sounds of a large explosion. Dust fell from the ceiling. The Master yanked himself out of the Doctor's grip, turning to face him. "What the hell was that?"

The Doctor shook his head, frowning. "I don't know."

The Master glared at the Doctor, breathing heavily again. "The _hell_ you don't. This was one of your plans! What did you _do_?"

"Go," the Doctor said. "I'm sure it's one of mine. Or more. Could be more of mine. Go capture them or chase them off or whatever. You won't think about anything else until you've dealt with them."

_You won't think about me._

He ignored that, ignored the itching feeling that the Lock was opening wider and wider, ignored that the universe was collapsing around him, because this was more important. Stabilizing him could be the most important thing in the universe, as far as he was concerned, and he was _not_ about to let this opportunity slip away.

/Giving him a wild-eyed look, the Master nodded, leaving the cell quickly.

"Thank god. I thought he was never gonna leave." River stepped out of the shadows, one hand on her gun.

The Doctor tried really hard not to fall over. "What? River – _what_?"

She laughed quietly, rolling her eyes. "Oh Doctor – a perception filter isn't that hard to make, especially when you've got two wizards helping you."

Jack followed her out, looking more serious than ever. "Severus is causing a distraction upstairs. Come on, Doc. Let's get you out of there."

The final perception filter dropped, revealing the Corsair and Tonks, both of them with wands out. "We should really go. Now," Tonks said, looking down the corridor.

"No." The Doctor backed away from the cell door, shaking his head. "No. This is a very, very bad idea and you all need to get out of here before someone gets killed."

River put her hand on the unlocked cell door. The Master had forgotten – and now he had no reason to stay. "Yes. Doctor – _please_."

"Too late!"

* * *

At some point in the past year, Severus' life had lost all semblance of sanity. Right now, for example, he was a member of a group of Death Eaters following Pius Thicknesse, former Minister for Magic and newly crowned Dark Lord, and also an alien, down into the depths of his own mansion on the hunt for the aliens Severus was currently allied with.

He was heartily reminded of an acronym his father had used: FUBAR. Fucked Up Beyond All Recognition. It seemed appropriate for the situation.

Beside him, Bellatrix pranced along. He struggled to refrain from cursing her. She had changed in the past year – but not for the better. She was more mentally stable and less likely to forgive, as hard as that was to believe. There were five of them: himself, Bellatrix, Avery, and Lucius, along with their Lord and Master.

Thicknesse halted at the top of the stairs that led down into the cells. "Do _not_ kill. I want all of them alive, am I clear?"

There was a murmur of agreement; Thicknesse threw the door open and bounded down the stairs, the Death Eaters following at a more sedate pace.

Faintly, he could hear voices.

"This is a very, very bad idea and you all need to get out of here before someone gets killed."

Thicknesse stopped, pulling out his wand. The Death Eaters followed suit, Severus exchanging a glance with Lucius. The blond didn't want to be here anymore than he did; Lucius would probably run at the first opportunity.

"Yes. Doctor – _please_."

Swaggering forward, Thicknesse cleared his throat. "Too late!"

They formed a pair of semicircles – the Death Eaters were one half, and the other half had Tonks, Black, Harkness, and Song. In the centre stood the Doctor and Thicknesse, staring each other down.

"This is not a fight you'll win," the Doctor said quietly. "Too many of yours are too uncertain."

Thicknesse shrugged. "You weren't the only one who can make plans on the fly."

"This one wasn't _mine_," the Doctor spat, eyes flashing.

Giving him a look of disgust, Thicknesse stepped back half a pace. "Doesn't matter. Bellatrix, _now_!"

Signalling to Avery, Bellatrix leapt forward, casting first one spell and then another. The first killed Harkness, scattering his guts across the hallway.

The Doctor spun, words leaving his mouth in a language Severus didn't understand.

The second spell froze Tonks, leaving her paralyzed. In a heartbeat, Bellatrix had her wand to Tonks' throat. "Nobody move!"

At the same time Avery, far less gracefully, had put his wand to Song's cheek. She glared at him insolently, not moving.

The Doctor turned back to Thicknesse, eyes wide and frightened. "Let them go! Now!"

"Give me your weapons," Thicknesse said calmly, smiling.

Throughout all of this neither Severus nor Lucius had moved, both remaining perfectly still, hands clenched around wands.

Breathing heavily, the Doctor raised his hands. "Put down your weapons. We can get out of this without losing anyone. River – all of them."

Black, surprisingly, was the first to move, dropping his wand to the floor and kicking it over to Thicknesse.

After a moment, Song began pulling a truly terrifying array and number of Muggle weapons out of various areas of her outfit, evidently modelled off a soldier's uniform. "I'm sorry, sweetie."

The Doctor shook his head, continuing to stare at Thicknesse. "Doesn't matter now."

"Silence!" Bellatrix jabbed her wand into Tonks' neck.

Thicknesse raised his chin. "Doctor – your screwdriver."

Visibly disgruntled, the Doctor reached into a pocket of his suit and pulled out a slim metal rod. "Now let her _go_."

"And Jack – I know you have weapons on there somewhere." Thickness turned to Harkness' body – but if past experience was any indicator – well, Severus had learned to stop guessing whether someone was alive or dead. The body remained motionless. Thicknesse shrugged. "Still dead then." Nodding slowly, he returned his attention to the Doctor. "Doctor – are these the only ones?"

The Doctor sighed, shoulders slumping. "There isn't anyone else who would be able to get in."

"Good." Thicknesse straightened. "Put them in individual cells. I will sort this out later."

Bellatrix snarled. "No! K-Thicknesse! They are too dangerous to leave alive."

Thicknesse turned his attention to her, lowering his head to glare up at her. "You will _not_ question me. Put them in individual cells. You may go first."

Bellatrix froze, her eyes flickering rapidly – from Black to the Doctor to Thicknesse and to Black again, interestingly. Finally she grinned. "Time for the end of this experiment, I think," she said, sounding infinitely more in control. "_Avada Kedavra_!"

The flash of green light hit Tonks in the neck. She crumpled to the floor, dead.

"_No_!" The Doctor spun, hands out. "_Don't._"

Bellatrix laughed, lower than her normal. "Too late, Doctor. _Decades _too late." With a twisting motion, she tore a ring from one finger. "Do you recognize me now?"

The Doctor snarled, stepping forward. "You cannot _fathom_ how little that matters right now, Rani."

Thicknesse stumbled forward and Black sputtered briefly. Song paled before flashing into motion. In one quick move she had Avery in a headlock, forcing him to drop his wand. "Rani, you want to start running now."

"And who are _you_?" Bellatrix – who was apparently _not_ Bellatrix, but Severus was too on edge to worry about that – looked disdainfully at Song.

Song dropped Avery on the floor. "Someone who's trying to save your life. Run. Now."

Bellatrix ignored this, returning her attention to the Doctor. "You _imprisoned _me. Me! How _dare_ you."

Growling, the Doctor stalked forward. "You should have listened to River. It wouldn't have saved you, but it would have slowed the process."

"You would never hurt me, _Theta Sigma_. Not after so long." Despite her protests, Bellatrix pointed her wand at the Doctor.

Head in profile to Severus, the Doctor grinned, all flinty edges and dark caverns. "Wouldn't I, Ushas? Wouldn't I?" He paused in his movement, eyes fixed on Bellatrix.

The ground rumbled.

"You have pushed me, Rani, you have pushed me too far," the Doctor purred. "I lost one companion a month ago and another today. A month ago there was nothing I could do. Now?" He clenched his fingers into fists.

Under his feet, Severus felt the paving stones shake, almost hard enough to knock him down. Tense, he shot a glance at Lucius. "Get out of here. _Now_."

Lucius glanced at the Doctor and nodded frantically. Turning on his heel, he Disapparated with a _crack_.

The Doctor jerked, swivelling his head.

"Doctor," Black said low, serious. "Step back. There are four of us here, we can imprison her. Create our own Shada to put her in. Don't do this. Not you."

Snarling, the Doctor opened and clenched one hand.

Black trembled, almost falling to the floor. "Doctor – _Thete!_ Don't! Please."

Song stepped forward, opening her mouth and speaking one silvery fluid syllable that Severus never could remember afterward.

"Don't. You. _Dare_," the Doctor spat, turning on her. "You _swore_." Hands opening and closing restlessly, he glared at her, wild-eyed.

Song nodded. "I swore. But Doctor – you're scaring us. Just take a moment and think – _please_."

The Doctor roared his laughter – or that was the closest word Severus could give it. It wasn't, not really. It was a scream, it was a yell, it was the single most terrifying thing he had ever heard, it was an announcement of victory and a declaration of battle at the same time. "I _have_ thought, River. I _have_ thought and you know what? They still _died_. I thought and they _died. _Now it's time for me to stop_ thinking_ and _do_ something."

Pulling a ring from his pocket, he spun it over in his hands. "You know what this is, Ushas?" he asked darkly. "This is the Remembrance Stone. I flip it over in my hands three times, it brings back my most loved ones. But you know where my most loved ones are?" He spun the stone again.

Bellatrix was the only person in the room who was not terrified or dead. "You are _weak_, Doctor, and you always have been. You have never been fit for the type of research I can conduct –"

"My loved ones are on Gallifrey and in other universes," the Doctor said, speaking over her. "They are behind a Time Lock that I raised, but they are not dead. So I wonder what will happen if I – do – _this_." He flipped the stone over a third time and spoke a syllable.

The room shuddered. The air between the Doctor and Bellatrix split open, revealing a gap that Severus had to turn away from. It wasn't meant to be seen, it hovered on the edges of his sight and refused to come into focus. He focused on the Doctor instead, judging him to be the greatest threat.

The Doctor laughed again, eyes dark. "A Time Lock is a barrier against _all_ forces, Rani, I thought you would have learned that. But if I give it power – I can open the Lock." Grinning he held out his free hand. Threads of - _something_ from the gash in reality twisted out and around his hand, almost as if they were caressing it. "The last time you were behind the Time Lock, it was completely unintentional. I had to imprison all of you to imprison any of you," he said, almost sadly. "This time – I _will_ mourn for you, Ushas, for who you were. But I do not think I will regret it." Staring at her, the dark purple gold blue threads winding around his hand, he spoke a short series of syllables that sounded hauntingly familiar to the one Song had tried earlier.

Bellatrix screamed, as if she suddenly realized the danger she was in. Too late: the threads grabbed her and pulled her into the gash. The Doctor dropped the stone. The gash vanished behind itself. Panting, the Doctor stared at the empty space.

"Thete – I thought – the Academy?" Thicknesse stepped forward, looking beyond worried – a new expression, Severus thought blankly.

The Doctor spun, hair erratically on end. "That is _not_ my name!"

Thicknesse actually _swayed_, jamming his hands in his pockets. "Then _listen_ to me. Doctor – _please_. Back down. I – I'll come with you."

Someone – Severus thought it might be Black – made a quiet strangled noise. The Doctor ignored this. "Isn't that ironic, though," he whispered, stepping closer to Thicknesse. "You – begging _me_ to let you come along. When not too long ago, it was the other way round." Hand whipping out, he grabbed Thicknesse's jaw, forcing the other man to look at him. "Are you scared of me?"

Thicknesse remained motionless. "Would you be, in my position?"

Dropping his hand, the Doctor backed away, eyes narrowed. "You are scared – but you pretend not to be. Why?"

Noting the tension drop, Severus let his eyes scan the room. Harkness was still dead, though he seemed to be healing – an area he wanted to know _nothing_ about. Song and Black were motionless, both of them watching the Doctor intently. His eyes flicked down to check on Tonks and –

Unnoticed by everyone, Avery had grabbed his wand and was standing, pointing it at Thicknesse. "I haven't ever liked what you're doing, Pius, not since you took over. But this is too much."

"Dangerous ground, Avery," Thicknesse snarled, not moving, his eyes remaining fixed on the Doctor.

Avery stepped forward, keeping his wand pointed at Thicknesse. "Whatever. The point is – I kill you, Pius, and then I kill your friend Barty, and there's no one left in my way. Severus will follow me and _I_ will lead the Death Eaters."

Looking far more collected than before, the Doctor scanned Avery, one eyebrow snapping up. "I doubt it."

Trembling, Avery jabbed his wand forward. "I am _not_ weak!"

The Doctor shrugged, looking saner by the moment. "Never said you were."

"I am a threat and you will treat me as such!" Avery yelled, face turning red. "I am _done _with being treated as _nothing_."

Eyes flashing, the Doctor stepped closer to the Death Eater. "You are not _nothing_," he spat. "Everyone has value. Even you. Even the Rani." The skin around his eyes tightened.

Breathing hard, Avery shook his head. "You don't get it. You won't _ever _get it unless I show you."

Severus tensed, raising his wand. There were a thousand and one possible ways for this to go and none of them ended well.

The Doctor frowned. Eyes widening, he shook his head. "No!"

Grinning, Avery slashed his wand down, it aimed directly at Thicknesse. "_Avada Kedavra_."

The bolt shot across the empty space. Time seemed to slow. The Doctor took a step sideways, placing himself in its path. The jet of light smacked into his chest. The Doctor crumpled.

Thicknesse yelled.


	69. Ragnarok, III

**A/N: And once again, I am running late for class. Wonderful.**

**Thanks to: Ptroxsora, Dragoneisha, Anonymous Bugger, Ashlee Pond, LilyLunaPotter142, FlyingLovegood123, Idalia, Jimbobob5536, Iamthe42, Stellarsong, Kudo Shinichi Tanteisan, Starcrystal8, and blue dragon of the 13, who also got the 700th review. I'll PM you about it when I get the chance.**

* * *

"_Avada Kedavra!_"

"Don't! He wouldn't want you to!"

"I don't _care_ what he wants. He's _dead_."

"Time Lord."

"How _stupid_ must you be to think _I _needed that explained to me?"

"He'll regenerate, bastard. Just wait."

"He's not."

"_Stupefy!_"

"How nice of you, Corsair, to finally get involved."

"Could you avoid antagonizing people who want to kill you?"

"Considering you're one of them… he's not regenerating."

"_No_."

"Did you think he _loved_ you, River? Were you really so foolish as to think that a _Time_ _Lord_ could love _you_?"

"I _will_ kill you."

He'd forgotten how much this _hurt_, this whole dying thing. He resolved never to do it again, just to avoid the shattering pain through every nerve.

Ooh. Nerve. That was a good word.

Word. Another interesting concept. So – diverse.

Diversity –

He was distracting himself. Why? And more importantly, from what? Or who? … That was an important question, though he couldn't remember why.

Who was he?

He stared at the insides of his eyelids, waiting for the answer to percolate – _another_ good word, wow, he was just full of them – up from the depths of his scrambled brain.

Doctor.

He was the Doctor. He was the Oncoming Storm, the Lonely God, Ka Faraq Gatri, the Destroyer of Worlds. He was a god in a dozen worlds and a devil in just as many. He had destroyed the Daleks more times than he cared to count and the Time Lords twice.

His eyes opened.

He was flat on his back, staring up at the stone ceiling. And everything hurt. Still. Possibly always, he didn't know yet. There was a definite possibility that he would always hurt. Well, given that he was now technically _dead_…

He sat up. The room spun dizzyingly for a second.

"Doctor!"

Hair. In his face. A lot of it. Blond and curly hair and female.

Brain beginning to slowly restart, he used the body now in his face to stand up. "Yes. Hello, River. Nice to see you again. You know – alive. Ish."

"You're dead," someone else said flatly.

Another face, another name. Black hair, skinny, brushing against his mind in a way that was all-too-heartbreakingly-familiar – "Yes. Hi, Corsair. Won't be the first regeneration I've botched."

What he didn't say because he couldn't let them know: _But it might be the last_.

More faces as he turned, trying to get a handle on what was going on. Skinny, male, black hair lank – Severus. He was standing the farthest away, wand out but lowered by his side. Short, lean but not skinny, short brunette hair – _Koschei_. No. The Master, now. The closest to him, aside from River, who he was still leaning on.

And the bodies. Torso ripped open, black hair fashionably short – Jack. He'd recover, though it looked to take a while. A stranger – he blinked at that body for a minute. It was breathing, but looked to be asleep. Oh. The Death Eater who'd attacked him.

And Tonks.

He looked away from her quickly, turning his attention to River. "I need my TARDIS."

"Sweetie –"

"You are a bloody _moron_," the Master spat, shoving River away and grabbing both of the Doctor's shoulders. "You flaming _idiot_, just _regenerate_ already!"

The Doctor looked at him, smile tight and painful. "I can't. You know why."

The Master shook his head. "No. No no no no. This is _not_ happening. You are _not_ going to do this, it'll kill you."

The Doctor bared more teeth in a vain attempt to look optimistic. "I'm already dead. What more could happen?"

Time Lords could extend the time between death and regeneration theoretically indefinitely. As time went on, though, the waiting got more painful and the regeneration more explosive. He hoped this wouldn't take too long. He really doubted it. His life was never that fortunate.

"No," the Master told him flatly. "No, you are not doing this."

The Doctor gave him a sad look. "The Lock is open."

The Master shook his head. "No. No, no, _no_. You are _not_ going in there on your own. You _will_ die, Doctor, and you won't regenerate."

"I know," the Doctor said quietly. "That's why I have to do it. No one else can."

Snarling, the Master shoved him away. "_No!_ I will _not_ lose you!" Panting, he stared at the Doctor. "Do you even have a plan?"

Stumbling to regain his balance, the Doctor shrugged. "Go in, do the job, try not to die. The normal, really."

"You have a fucked up idea of normalcy," the Master said. "Go on, get yourself killed. See if I care."

The Doctor stared at him, swallowing painfully. "If there was another option –"

The Master turned away. "You'd do this anyway. It's who you are. Just _go_."

Biting his lip, the Doctor took a step forward. Despite his best efforts, his leg collapsed and he fell painfully to the floor. Pain shattered over his knee as it hit the floor and he whimpered.

"Hey, sweetie." River knelt down behind him, pressing herself against his back. "Come on. Where'd you put your TARDIS?"

He wanted so badly to relax, to let the regeneration come. He could feel the energy bubbling under his skin. It hurt so _much_, every nerve firing at once, announcing something had gone horribly, terribly wrong. He was supposed to be _dead_, he was supposed to be another man already, he was supposed to be in the middle of changing, it didn't matter where in the process he should have been because he wasn't there now _and it hurt_. "Time Lock," he muttered, trying to gather his mind. "She's behind a Time Lock. Over there." He jerked his head in the right direction.

River shook her head, hair brushing against his neck. "I'm sure this seemed like a good idea at the time." Hooking her arms under his armpits, she braced herself. "Come on. Up we get."

His legs flailed, but he managed to get them under him eventually, leaning heavily on River. Turning, he faced the gap where his TARDIS had been, was, will be. "River, I – I'm –"

"_Don't_," she said, cutting him off. "Don't you _dare_ apologize for saving the universe. I would do _anything _for you and if there was a single thing I _could_ do to save you I would. But there's not a thing I can do right now, so don't apologize to me, go off and save the bloody universe. Again."

He wasn't sure whether to laugh or run away, so he did neither, straightening up and pushing River away. "It'll be too dangerous – keep the others back."

She didn't move, continuing to support him. "You won't be able to stand."

"Nope," he agreed cheerily. "I'll live. Well, I won't, but that doesn't matter right now." Sobering, he gave her a look over his shoulder. "River, please. Just – I can't hurt anyone else."

River nodded finally. Releasing her hands, she backed away slowly.

He struggled to stay upright, the pain blinding him for a second. By the time he could see again, by the time he could _think_ again, he was crouched on the floor, knees throbbing from where they had hit, knuckles scraping against the paving stones. Whining quietly, he struggled to concentrate, trying to direct the energies.

Regeneration was an immensely powerful process that released a massive amount of artron energy. Most of it went into changing his body, but there was a considerable amount that was forced through other areas – his hands and face, mostly.

In theory – well, not theory, he'd done it once before – he could take that energy and use it on something else.

He focused, pulling the power out of his core, sliding it down until it pooled in his hands, making them glow gold. It hurt, everything hurt, the central area of his hindbrain lighting up like the TARDIS console with pain. He was undergoing system failure across half a dozen areas – he hadn't breathed since he'd woken up again, for one, and the speed with which his lymphatic system was collapsing was moderately terrifying. Except he wasn't going to live long enough for any of that to matter. Or rather, not-live. Not-die.

Lying on the floor, hands shedding gold sparks, he laughed rustily through the pain. He was a zombie. One of his companions would have found that amusing.

He sat up, groaning. Taking the power, he twisted it, forming glowing chains in the air. He threw the chains outward, waiting for them to catch on something – when they did, they hung strangely, forming the outline of a box.

A TARDIS.

Humans didn't have to calculate the trajectory of a ball to catch it. He didn't have to calculate the formulas needed to work with Time in order to do this. He was brute-forcing it, something he would pay for later – if he _had_ a later.

But that didn't matter now, because he had a set of temporal chains wrapped around his TARDIS, and that meant he could yank her back through the Time Lock. Theoretically.

Well, less theoretically than probably, but it took a lot of energy.

A regeneration's worth, to be precise.

Still in a half-crouch, the Doctor looked up at where the chains hung in the air. "Time to come back to me, baby. Come on, girl, come for me!" Twisting his wrists, he shot the last of the artron energy through his hands.

The chains shattered in an explosion of light. When it cleared enough for the Doctor to look again, the TARDIS sat there, looking proud of herself.

Grinning, he stood, using the side of the TARDIS to help himself up. With a jaunty salute to River – somewhat spoiled by how badly his hand was shaking – he swung the door open and stepped inside. The Doctor looked at the console, vaguely registering the steady failure of body functions, and collapsed on the grating.

* * *

Severus made a mental resolution never to comment on how odd his life was because the only result of that would be for it to get odder.

For example, he had just watched a man get _killed_, begin to glow gold, summon chains made of _pixie dust_ out of thin air, and make a large, solid, blue box appear in the centre of the corridor before disappearing inside it.

If he had been a religious man, he would have suspected that someone upstairs had it out for him. As it was, it was just more of the bad luck that plagued his life.

"Corsair, get the door," Song snapped, staring at the blue box.

Black stepped forward and almost immediately halted, turning to her. "You know he's most likely dead," he said, not unkindly.

Song visibly inflated with anger – and most likely grief, if Severus had any idea what was going through her head. "Get the _door_."

After a long moment, Black nodded, bending down to pick up his wand. He crossed the room, moving around Severus without a jibe – odd, for him. Standing with his back to the rest of the room, he began to cast spells at the door.

Meanwhile, Song had recovered one of her guns, and now had it pointed dead-on at him. "Drop your wand."

Severus tensed, fingers clenching around his wand. It was his only valued possession, the only thing he cared about after so many years of playing both sides. It had saved his life more times than he cared to think about, and he had willingly surrendered it twice: once to the Dark Lord, and once to the Headmaster.

Song stepped forward, eyes focused on him. "You are an idiot if you think I will not shoot you, but I don't think you're that stupid. Drop your wand."

And she was an idiot if she thought he was just going to give in. In a flash, he twisted, presenting his side to her and aiming his wand. "I am not a threat."

"I can't trust you," Song bit out. "Who are you loyal to?"

He relaxed slightly, confident that she was not going to shoot him immediately. "That does not matter."

She stared at him for a moment, tilting her head. "Corsair, have you got that door yet?"

Black snarled. "Right now, any advanced wizard can get through. I need a couple minutes to block everyone out."

"Yeah, well, when you're done, we've got a situation." Song glared at him, gun aimed at his neck.

For the first time in minutes, Thicknesse cleared his throat. "You could just kill him. He's got to be a traitor to _someone_ in this room. Shoot him and be done with it."

Song twitched but neither her eyes nor her gun left Severus. "I could kill _you_. Pretty sure you're the bigger threat."

"You haven't," Thicknesse pointed out cockily.

Sighing, Song nodded. "Because he wouldn't like it. Only reason."

Severus took the opportunity when she was distracted to step back and to the side, out of the direct aim of her gun.

"I take it back," Song told him, returning her attention to him. "You _are_ that stupid. Wand. Down._ Now_."

He wasn't going down without a fight, and he wasn't certain that he supported any one of the numerous factions in the room. Severus twisted his wand, sending the Binding Spell nonverbally.

Song dodged it without apparent effort and moved forward. In a heartbeat, the muzzle of her gun was pressed against his neck and her fingers were clenched around his wrist. "My patience with you has reached an end. Your _loyalty_, Severus."

He snarled, trying to wrench his hand free of her grasp. If he could take her down, Black would be easy and Thicknesse wouldn't care. Then he could go and protect –

Her fingers dug into the nerves in his wrist. Swearing, he opened his wrist, letting his wand clatter to the floor and alleviating the pain in his arm.

"Good boy," Song purred. "So you _can_ learn." Keeping her gun on his neck, she turned her head slightly. "_Corsair_."

Black groaned. "Did _he_ teach you to be this demanding? Yes, it's done; yes, I'm keeping an eye on the Master; no, I don't think Snape is a problem."

Song rolled her eyes. "Sarcastic prat. Can we trust Severus?"

"Yes," Black said quickly, to Severus' unending surprise.

Shifting, Song moved to grab his neck with one hand and kept the gun positioned with the other. "What percentage?" she asked, twisting to look at Black.

Severus held perfectly still, his pulse throbbing against the ring of metal on his neck.

Black gave her a look of utter confusion. "What?" It reminded Severus a lot of their school days, when Black couldn't be arsed to pay any attention in class.

"You _are_ a Time Lord, aren't you?" Song snapped. "Run the calculations and tell me the odds."

Black stuck his tongue out, but then closed his eyes. "87, 88 per cent chance that he's harmless," he said, opening his eyes again.

Severus tried very hard not to bristle; if they assumed that he was not a danger, he might get out of here alive.

Song groaned, clenching her hand on his neck. "I don't like it. Twelve, thirteen – too high."

The click of the safety was terrifyingly loud in his ear. Severus wasn't suicidal – not anymore – and while he didn't fear death, and spent an astonishing amount of time actively seeking it, he wanted his death to be meaningful. He wanted to change something. Dying in a repurposed basement because a psychotic bitch decided to blow his head off: not his idea of meaningful.

Yanking his chin up, he closed his eyes.


	70. Ragnarok, IV

**A/N: It isn't really ever going to get better. Sorry. (Not sorry)**

**Thanks to: Stellarsong, WitchOfDarkness13, Iamthe42, Ptroxsora, DragonRose4, Ashlee Pond, Idalia, LilyLunaPotter142, blue dragon of the 13, and Jimbobob5536.**

**Fun Fact of the Day: Matt Smith wrote fanfiction to get in character.**

* * *

A _snap_ made him flinch before his brain processed that it wasn't the bang of a gun. It took another second before he could register an absence: the ring of metal, the barrel of the gun was gone.

"River, you _know_ how I feel about guns," a strong voice said, thick with an Estuary accent.

Song dropped his neck, spinning. "You goddamned _prat_, why haven't you regenerated?"

After another moment, Severus opened his eyes and turned, body tense.

Standing in the open doors of the blue box was the Doctor, looking the same as he had before – and considerably less in pain. "I haven't regenerated because I have a _plan_, and everything has to be carefully timed. And one of the things that means, River, is that you can't kill people on a whim right now."

"It was not a _whim_," Song snapped, hands on her hips.

Severus frowned. Her gun was gone. Not in its holster, not in her hands, not on the floor. _Gone_.

The Doctor stepped forward, closing the door behind him. "Severus is not a threat to me. His loyalty is to Harry Potter and Hogwarts."

Severus flinched at hearing his loyalty, his stock-in-trade as a spy, dissected so easily.

"Don't dismiss him." Song stepped forward, her glower identifiable from behind. "He was a _spy_, Doctor, you know he's –"

The Doctor blinked, once, and Song fell silent. Because the Doctor had dark brown eyes, Severus had long since noted that, but they were brown no longer. Instead they were a shimmering _gold_, the same shade as the earlier chains. His eyes _shone_, bottomless pools of stardust and glitter, throwing off sparks. The gold wasn't limited to his eyes, either. It swirled around him, dancing in patterns – first chains, then ropes, then strings of animals that spun too fast to recognize. He should have looked absurd, he should have looked like a fairy, he should have looked like he was on fire.

He didn't.

Severus was not and had never been a religious man – his childhood had ensured that – but staring at those eyes – he wanted to kneel. His knees trembled, but he remained standing through pure force of will.

Song shook her head and remained where she was. "Doctor, what did you _do_?"

Black made a strangled noise and gave a short, half-bow. Two syllables of a musical, fluid language left his mouth.

And Thicknesse actually _whimpered_, taking a step backward, his eyes fixed on the Doctor.

The Doctor smiled – or something that should have been a smile, but somehow terribly _wasn't_. "What I had to, River. And when I say Severus is not a threat to me, I – _surprisingly_ – know what I'm talking about." He blinked again – the gold vanished. He returned to being a regular man, or as close to regular as he ever got.

"You're going to kill yourself," Black said quietly, body relaxing.

The Doctor cracked a smile. "I'm already dead, it won't make a difference." Shoving his hands in his pockets, he rocked back on his heels. "Right, so, first things first. Jack." Blinking - the gold came back, making Severus tremble again – he crossed the room and knelt beside Harkness. "Time to wake up, Jack."

He reached out and touched Harkness' chest. "_Live_, Jack. _Live_." His voice rumbled oddly, bending and refracting around the room. It wasn't human, it wasn't like anything Severus had ever heard before, it was impossible to describe and yet he knew exactly what it was. _Power_.

Skin and muscle regrew over Harkness, covering the gaping hole that was his chest. After a second, he jerked, back arching up.

"Welcome back!" the Doctor yelled, freewheeling backwards, and offering his hand to help Harkness up. The gold vanished "Good to have you back on the team."

Harkness shook his head, shaking his limbs out. "Good to be back. What'd I miss?" His eyes scanned the room, stopping on Severus and then Thicknesse. "Tonks," he said quietly. "And Bellatrix Lestrange."

The Doctor shrugged. "Well, turns out dear old Bellatrix was actually a Time Lady named the Rani, who thought it would be a good idea to kill Tonks. She's been dealt with, by the way. She won't be causing any more problems."

Groaning, Harkness grabbed a gun from the floor and slipped it into his holster. "How'd she get here, anyway? I thought you dealt with all of the Time Lords. Except for him." He pointed, somewhat shakily at Thicknesse.

"The Time Lock's open." The Doctor returned his hands to his pockets and stared at the floor. "She escaped. More and more are going to do that now, until I close it again."

Harkness frowned. "Couldn't you bring Tonks back? Like Rose did with me, only without the side effects."

The Doctor turned away, head down. "I can't. Don't ask me to. _Please_."

Song nodded, and stepped forward, reaching for his hands. The Doctor jerked away, almost as if her touch was painful. "Doctor, we won't ask you, then. All I want to know is why not?"

The Doctor sagged against the blue box briefly. Seeming to draw strength from it, he ran a hand through his hair. "First. If – if I began – If I brought her back – why would I stop? I could do it, you know. Bring them _all_ back. Tonks and – and Martha and all the others we lost. But why stop there? I could reshape the universe. Make it _better_. I could become a _god_, a literal one."

"A Time Lord with that power would be a god. A _vengeful_ god," Harkness said softly. 'How did you know that?" he asked, after a moment's silence.

The Doctor grunted. "Second," he said loudly, ignoring the question, "life is change. It is constantly in motion, constantly changing. Stability is death. You stay the same – well, you're not really _alive_ anymore. You're just – there. Existing. Only really alive when you're with someone else.

Harkness looked pensive and nodded silently.

"And third," the Doctor said, avoiding eye contact, "I can't. Her thread's gone. I could bring _something _back, using my memories, but it wouldn't be _her_. You were different, Jack. Your timeline was so knotted, it refused to fall out. Rose _had_ to do what she did to complete the loop. Tonks is just – gone."

"So what _can_ you do, Doctor?" Song asked suddenly, looking angry.

The Doctor blinked and smiled grimly, gold flaring around him and in him. "I could see your timeline," he said, voice echoing oddly again. "Everything you've ever done. Your parents. Who you _really_ are. Everything you will do, every time your thread touches mine. All of you."

Song flinched, taking two steps backward. It was the most weakness Severus had ever seen out of her.

The gold vanished, and the Doctor grinned for real. "I _won't_ though. I'd never do something like that. So!" He clapped his hands together, straightening. "Who's got their vortex manipulator on them?"

Song pulled a flat brown bracelet out of a pocket; Harkness yanked his sleeve up to reveal an identical bracelet. The Doctor nodded at both of them, and then turned to Thicknesse, who scowled.

"_Fine._" Thicknesse rolled his eyes, dipping into a pocket and throwing another bracelet at the Doctor. Glowering, he folded his arms and turned away.

The Doctor caught the bracelet easily in the same hand as Song's; he snapped his other hand twice. Harkness' bracelet disappeared from his wrist and reappeared in the Doctor's hand. "Better," he said smugly, juggling the three bracelets briefly before getting them sorted and opening a flap on one.

Harkness jerked back, eyes widening. "What the bloody _hell_? Doc, what was that?"

Waving a spare hand, the Doctor poked at a bracelet, letting the other two hang in thin air, without any use of magic. "I needed it. You don't mind, do you?" He pulled a skinny metal rod out of his pocket, now letting all three float, and waved it at the bracelets. It emitted a blue light and a high-pitched whirring noise.

Tilting his head, Harkness opened and closed his mouth several times before evidently giving up.

Severus wasn't surprised. The list of Odd Things The Doctor Did was growing longer by the second, most of them impossible even with the magic the Doctor clearly wasn't using, and Severus had long since given up trying to make sense of any of it.

"Brilliant!" The Doctor grinned, the three bracelets revolving slowly around each other. "Now, River – take this one. This is the controller. The other two are transporters."

Song gave the Doctor a stern look. "Explain."

The Doctor wrinkled his nose. "I need you to get everyone home. You, Jack, M- the Krillitanes, the soldiers. I have a list." He flicked a hand; one of the bracelets stopped spinning and zoomed over to hover in front of Song. Sticking one hand into a pocket, he snapped the fingers of the other one. The remaining two bracelets flew towards each other, fastening together. "River, yours is the controller. Anyone who's touching the transporters will go to the same location as you. They've been overpowered to get you across universes. You should have no trouble getting home."

Song looked at the bracelet hovering in front of her and didn't move. "Who's in charge, Doctor? You or the TARDIS?"

The Doctor smiled lazily. "I am, of course. The TARDIS is in here, but she listens to me." He pulled a paper out of his pocket and floated it across the room to Song.

Black shuffled. "I have a TARDIS of my own."

"Where is he?" the Doctor asked suddenly, head swivelling. "Your TARDIS. He was in the battle, I saw him come."

Stepping forward, the Corsair came to what looked suspiciously like a military stance. "Down the hall. He's behind perception filters and a hard block, but I can reach him easily. I sent him here, set to arrive shortly after we did. You can use him, Doctor."

The Doctor shook his head. "No. I need you to take the Master. I may not – come back, and someone should keep an eye on him."

"I am _not_ your _pet_!" Thicknesse snapped, taking a step closer to the Doctor. "I won't _bow_ to you or any other Time Lord. I am the Master –"

"And you will obey me," the Doctor said dryly, gold flaring. "I am protecting you," he said, much more gently. "I always have been, since the day I returned. Trust me. This once. Trust me."

Thicknesse flinched, eyes briefly showing more pain than should have been possible. He said something rapidly and quietly in a language Severus didn't know; then he turned away and leaned against the wall, silent.

The Doctor swallowed, eyes turning gold. "Corsair, keep an eye on the Master. Severus, the wards will drop when we're all gone. Go rebuild your world. River – get them all home. The universes will separate permanently in two days." He looked around the room, his eyes resting longest on Thicknesse.

Turning abruptly, he marched to the blue box and opened the door. He stood in the door frame, looking out at Song. "Don't expect me back," he said quietly, and closed the door behind himself.

Shortly, there came a whirring, grinding noise, and the blue box disappeared.

The Doctor was gone.

* * *

His TARDIS wasn't happy.

Which was fair, because he wasn't too happy either. Of course, he was also _dead_. Ish. Going to be dead. Whatever.

He hated this.

All of it.

The disaster behind him. The disaster ahead. The disaster he was in right now.

Himself.

Mostly himself.

The Doctor groaned, leaning back in the pilot's seat. He knew what he had to do, he just didn't want to do it. Not now. Not _ever_, if possible, but that was looking increasingly unlikely.

Technically, he had _three_ universes crashing into each other, not just two: his universe, the Harry Potter universe, and the Time War. The Time War was stuck between the larger two, which was half of the problem right there.

So he had to not only repair the Time Lock, but separate and wall off the other two. Oh, and make Harry's 'verse self-sustaining, because it hadn't been before.

Great.

"TARDIS, enable voice interface." He stretched such that his back rubbed against the pilot's seat, supporting him.

With a flicker of light, a copy of himself appeared standing on the grating. "TARDIS voice interface enabled," the other him said mechanically.

The Doctor spat an oath in Gallifreyan. "I wanted _voice_ interface. Not _visual_."

The other him vanished. "Visual interface disabled."

"Fine," he muttered. Twisting so that he could hang his head over the arm of the seat and stare up at the ceiling, he groaned. "You still got those equations for the Lock?" The equations he had designed to override everything but her most basic functions, to allow them to cheat death and evade physics. The equations that should have been impossible and _were_ illegal. The equations that he needed to save their lives.

"Reminder that I know everything you do."

He swung his feet over the opposite arm and drummed his fingers on the chair back. "Display them, please. I know you're not pleased with me –"

The equations shimmered into existence in the air above his face, their appearance sending an electric shock through his fingers.

"Yes, I _got_ that," he snapped, angry for the first time. "I'm _trying_. I'm also, you know, _dead_, so stop taking it out on me!"

The equations vanished, replaced by an angry red light. "Reminder that displays of emotion are useful only for generating sympathy in living organisms. Reminder that you are the only such organism on board."

He struggled to keep from yelling, struggled to keep from hitting something. "You think I don't know that?" Making a noise that might have been a sob, he turned his head towards the back of the chair, shaking.

There was a long pause. "Reminder that I always have been, am always, and will always be here for you."

He shuddered, slowly looking up again. Biting his lip, he stared at the equations, which had returned while he wasn't looking. "Reverse them."

"Error. Equations cannot be reversed."

Putting his hands behind his head, he scowled up at the floating equations. "How did we get through last time?"

There was another long, faintly annoyed pause. "Reminder that you failed to inform me we were breaking through the Time Lock."

He sighed. "Sorry about that. Yes, I need the equations for how we got through the Time Lock. The big one, if you don't mind. Not the little ones."

"That was statistically the one you were talking about."

The equations vanished, to be replaced by a much smaller set. He glared at them. "Right, so what do we have here? Don't respond to that, it was rhetorical. Set the equations to follow me, dear."

Rolling off the seat, he waved a hand at the equations. Pacing to an open area of the console room, he spun to face them, glaring. "Now reverse them."

"Error. Equations cannot be reversed."

Running a hand through his hair, he groaned. "Take out a variable, then."

"Reminder that I cannot read your mind."

"A variable!" he shouted, hair on end. "Take out a variable, any one will do. Well, not _any_ one, not us obviously, or the universe we're trying to get to – take out the stabilizer. It's not necessary."

"Reminder that the –"

"Just take it _out_! We can put it back in if necessary, but I don't think we'll need to."

With a disgruntled flash, a set of variables vanished.

The Doctor nodded. "Good. And reverse…" He waved a hand, trailing off.

The equations obediently swivelled, variables spinning rapidly. When they came to a halt, there was a rumbling from the TARDIS console. "Odds that these equations will succeed: 3.5%. Odds that these equations will succeed with additional power: 73.2%. Conclusion: more power necessary."

"I can fix that," he said, staring at the equations blankly. "We did it. I don't – _hah_!" Giggling shakily, he spun in a circle. "We just came up with an equation to break through an unbreakable lock _and_ we won't die in the process!"


	71. Ragnarok, V

**A/N: And we are now into the area where I only proofread this once because it hurt so much. Also, there's a line in here that made me cry while writing it. So sadness ahoy!**

**Thanks to: Kudo Shinichi Tanteisan, Stellarsong, FlyingLovegood123, Idalia, Ashlee Pond, Iamthe42, Ptroxsora, blue dragon of the 13, LilyLunaPotter142, and Jimbobob5536.**

**Somewhat Less than Fun Fact of the Day: Matt Smith is stepping down as the Doctor in the Christmas special this year.**

* * *

"Reminder that you are already dead."

He rolled his eyes. "Implement the equations now. I'll be down to help in a second."

"Would reminding you that this has a 34.9% chance of killing you persuade you from doing it?"

"I've _flown_ you places with a higher death chance than that," he pointed out, one hand wound in his hair. "Go ahead and run them." Swallowing, he looked at the console, the closest he could ever get to her. "You know how much I care about you, right?"

"Affirmative."

He groaned, walking over to one of the console panels. "Some days I forget you helped with K-9. I swear, if you call me 'master' –"

"Affirmative, master," the TARDIS said smugly.

The Doctor made a face, pulling open the panel. "You know, next time you redesign, you should put your heart somewhere else. Make it harder to get to. This is the second time with this format, and I used it once the one before. Not a good habit to get into, I think."

"15 seconds to impact with Time Lock. 14. 13. 12 –"

Staring into the heart of the TARDIS, he reached his hand out and hit something warm and hard. He'd taken energy from her – a _lot_ of energy, over five times a regeneration's worth – to keep himself alive, but that left her too weak to get through the Time Lock.

"One!"

He yelled wordlessly as the energy was ripped back out of him, tearing through the space between them, lighting his veins on fire.

When it was over, he slumped against the console, breathing heavily. "That was a bit more painful than remembered."

"Reminder that –"

"Stop it," he said. "Please. I don't – this is going to be bad enough. Don't bring up last time."

There was silence in the TARDIS for a moment, and it took him a bit to realize _why_: She wasn't moving. Wasn't flying, wasn't doing anything. She was just sitting. Waiting.

He grinned slowly. "Good girl, going on silent already. And – ooh, good idea, drop shields. Conserve power, and we don't need them now anyway. Right, so, new calculations: the Time Lock. How'd we put it up last time, and will it work again?" The first set of equations returned and he stared at them blurrily. "Well, if we just take this bit out –"

"That 'bit' represents us."

He poked at the equations in the vague hope that they would get neater. "Funny how you can communicate quotation marks with a misappropriated voice box."

And it was bloody _miraculous_ that he had ever written these in the first place. Last time – he gave up, and just let the memories come.

_He wasn't sure what reality _was_ anymore. It all blurred together – the future and the past and the War and the War and the War. He knew the following things: he was sick, he still had his TARDIS, and the War had to end. Everything else was uncertain and changing. He'd done something wrong again and Time felt off – like he'd looped it, but that wasn't possible, not to do so and include the entire War, which is what it felt like –_

_He had done, hadn't he? Looped Time. And now he had to stick the entire mess behind a Time Lock, a modified one so that nothing could ever get in or out. Including the Time Lords._

_Including him._

_Oh well._

Between the Nightmare Child inside him, the struggle of Time as it tried to snap back into place, the War itself, and the pressures of the other Time Lords, it should have been impossible to redesign temporal quantum physics inside a broken down TARDIS.

That hadn't stopped him.

So this should be easy, because all he had to do this time was take the bits of equations he had saved and turn them into something functional.

Right.

"What does delta stand for again?" he asked, returning his full attention to the equations.

"You did not record that information."

He blinked. "Replace delta with a – a – don't replace it with anything. Make it glow red. I need to see where it is."

A substantial portion of the equations lit up red. "Well then," he said dryly. "I think I know what that is. Okay, so delta is – is – is –" He waved a hand wildly, head thumping against the console. "How much are you in my head right now?"

He wasn't Rose, wasn't human like her, so the arrival of all the TARDIS energy and consciousness hadn't taken him over like it had her. But now he could use that extra connection –

There was a long pause from the TARDIS and then all the deltas vanished, replaced by a set of numbers and letters and a few other things. "Bingo," he whispered. "Okay, will those work?"

"No. The situation has changed."

"Hell." Shoving himself more upright against the console, he frowned. "Right, take out us. Our stabilizers. Take them out."

The equations shifted again, shrinking. "_Brilliant!_" He grinned, his head banging into the wall when he threw it back. "Run those. Let me know when you need power."

The equations were bastardized versions of the hybrid offspring of two branches of theoretical physics that should never have existed in the first place. The Time Lock was an unhealthy combination of 'normal' Locks, that the Time Lords had used, and an idea he'd had once, long ago, of a fortress where nothing could get in

He could add this to the list of things he wasn't supposed to do with a TARDIS and did anyway. It was so far beyond overriding root programming that it wasn't visible, what he was doing. Taking an equation, taking an outside energy force – that the energy had come from her originally didn't matter at this point – feeding them through the consciousness that was the _true_ heart of the TARDIS and distorting space and time through that.

He was rebuilding the Time Lock, his blast through earlier had brought it down entirely, going to do the exact same thing he had done before, only larger. Anything that was inside the Lock for any of its loops was inside for all of them, to ensure that everything involved in the Time War, in any of its incarnations, was caught. The only exception was Earth, which got a huge and complicated equation of its own.

"Power drain potentially critical. Source of power needed."

Baring his teeth, he touched his hand to the heart again. The ripping of power was worse this time, more painful, lasted longer. He screamed, tearing his vocal chords.

It ended, the pain vanishing, leaving him gasping on the floor. Wincing, he curled in on himself, staring at the pinstripes as they curved around his knee. Strange that he was wearing the same thing now as the last time he had destroyed Gallifrey. Brown suit, blue pinstripes – he looked down. Yup, same tie. Funny how the world worked.

"Report. Testing systems. I can no longer access Earth. Conclusion. Assembling the Time Lock around Gallifrey was successful."

He had won.

What a _joke _that was. He hadn't won a damn thing, except for the chance to die on Gallifrey instead of somewhere else. He'd separated the universes again, with the Time Lock back up, it would return everything to its original state, thank Rassilon –

The word had slipped through in his mental litany, and it took him a minute to realize that he hadn't used that oath in centuries. What it meant that he had used it now, he didn't know.

He panted as he hauled himself upright, leaning heavily on the console. "Can you fix your panel, or should I get it?"

"You will not live that long."

He laughed bitterly, rolling his eyes. "Thanks, dear. Glad you have confidence in me."

"Reminder that my energy is not suitable for a regeneration."

Making an effort to keep from yelling at her – _again_ – he nodded. "I know. I – I know." He was standing, somehow, energy still buzzing through him, too much to allow him to relax, not enough to save him. Never enough to save him. "Where are we?"

"In orbit around Arcadia."

His hand slammed down on the console automatically. He didn't mean to hurt her, didn't _want_ to hurt her, but – Arcadia. "Sorry," he muttered. Staring at the central column, he shook his head. "Let me go."

"I do not understand."

Shuddering, he braced himself against the console in order to remain standing. "Take my energy. You can use it to get through the Time Lock. Save yourself. Go find – someone. Jack. Find Jack. Whatever. Just – there's no way this ends well for me."

"No."

"I am _dying_," he yelled, the room beginning to spin nauseatingly around him. "Let me – There isn't anything you can do. I – I – I can't regenerate. I can't go on. There's nothing you can do," he said, more quietly, vaguely aware he was repeating himself, but not coherent enough to care. "So take it. The energy. Take it back. Get out. Let me die."

"No," the TARDIS said again, plainly struggling to take concepts that she understood on an instinctual level and translate them into something he could understand. "I will be alone."

He gaped at her, the words piercing all of his armour. "I – _no_. Jack. Go find Jack or Martha or Sarah Jane or _someone_, you don't have to be alone, you won't _ever_ have to be alone, but I can't come, I _shouldn't_ come, I make everything _wrong_, but you can go, you can find someone you deserve, I've never deserved you, I –"

"You have _always_ deserved me," the TARDIS said, and for a moment he almost believed her.

Shaking his head, he stumbled away from the console, almost falling down when the edge of his trainers caught in the grating. "No, no, no. I – I'm _dying_, don't you understand? I'm _dying_ and I won't come back and there is _nothing_ you can do about it, all we're accomplishing here is delaying the inevitable."

"There is a way."

"_No_," he spat, turning away. "Whatever you're going to – _no_."

"If I donate more energy, you can be stabilized. Remain as you are, forever. You would not die."

And whatever he had imagined her solution to be, that was _worse_. "No, no, no, no, _no_. You'll _die_ and I can't – you've always –" He was breathing faster than ever before, fully aware he was panicked and too far gone to stop it. "I _need_ you, I can't do this without you, you make me better, you're the most important part of me, and your plan would _kill _you and I can't live with that, you can't ask me to do that. Once you're dead, then what? What am I supposed to do? Go fight the Time War again? I'll live, but the _cost_ –"

"You affect the timelines more than I do."

He shook his head, everything blurry. His cheeks were wet and he was _not_ going to think about why because that would just be too much now. "What am I without you? I am _nothing_. I am _worse_ than a human, I can't even blend in! Without you – _no_. It would be better to die here."

Abruptly, suddenly, he turned and headed for the doors. "Open them." He wasn't sure what he was doing, not really thinking, didn't really care. He just knew he had to move, had to get out, had to see the world one last time before he died, because that was the end solution to all of this, he was going to die and the only question remaining was whether his TARDIS was going to make it.

"Reminder that –"

"Open the bloody doors!" he yelled, and regretted it almost instantly, because none of this was her fault and he really shouldn't be yelling.

The doors swung open in a disgruntled silence, but he didn't care anymore because he knew this sight – he'd been here before.

Just to check, out of some delusional hope or fear that this wasn't _that _loop, that this wasn't the time he had come to stare at Arcadia and ponder if there _was_ a way to get through the Lock after all, he stepped halfway through the door, staring at the other TARDIS.

He'd thought he was hallucinating, that day at the end, when he put the Time Lock up and stared into space, only to see another TARDIS appear, and a skinny sod in a long coat poke his head out. It was only marginally less shocking from the other direction, to poke his head out of the TARDIS doors and see himself, cravat and all, preparing to fly into the Lock itself.

He stared at himself, all auburn hair – the closest he'd ever been to ginger – and Victorian clothes and a new penchant for kissing things and shoes, and wondered where it had gone wrong. Because clearly he wasn't supposed to find himself in the same situation twice, and so something had gone horribly wrong somewhere.

"Warning. Warning. Shields down. External presence detected. Doors must close immediately. Warning. Shields down –"

He scrambled back inside, a new surge of fear blasting through him. The Time War had produced a thousand thousand mutations and evils, and leaving the TARDIS doors open was an invitation to them.

It was too late. Still blaring a warning, the TARDIS struggled, but something larger groaned, and in a second, in a heartbeat, they were trapped, the Cloister Bell ringing, the central column pulsing an angry red.

Fully aware his eyes had gone gold again, he faced the still-open doors, glowering at them.


	72. Ragnarok, VI

**A/N: I'm sorry.**

**Thanks to: Uryuu-Nipaa, FlyingLovegood123, Stellarsong, JoojooBrother, Ptroxsora, Starcrystal8, Iamthe42, LilyLunaPotter142, Jimbobob5536, Idalia, and blue dragon of the 13.**

* * *

A wooden door slammed into existence, the outside covering the TARDIS doors. He blinked, astonished for once, and stepped forward. The door opened, revealing the interior of another TARDIS – and the Corsair, grinning maniacally and waving at him.

Somewhere between angry and confused, the Doctor crossed his arms over his chest. "What are you doing here?"

"Saving you," the Corsair said, sobering rapidly. "I'm here to get your ass back out."

The Doctor shook his head rapidly, anger flaring. "No, no, you _can't_. You're going to die here, Corsair, you weren't involved in the War, you don't know what it was like, you're going to die, I can't get out, there's no way out, I made sure of that."

The Corsair looked down at him, eyebrows raised. "You got out last time. All you need now is a power boost. And I can help with that."

It hit him, what the Corsair was suggesting. "_No_. You are _not_ going to sacrifice yourself. I have had enough of that."

"That's not what I'm suggesting," the Corsair said, grinning. He laughed, snapping his fingers. "You know me, Doctor, I'm not the self-sacrificing type."

Shoving the Corsair out of the doorway, the Master appeared, looking unchanged. "I don't come like a _dog_ when you call."

The Corsair shrugged. "Evidently, you do."

"Shut up," the Master snapped, attention riveted on the Doctor. "Just so you know, none of this was my idea."

The Doctor blinked, not sure where to begin. "What – why are you here? Why are you working with _him_?"

The Master stepped into the Doctor's TARDIS, taking the opportunity to shove the Corsair again. "I'm not."

The Corsair rolled his eyes, joining them. "After you left – he came with me, and between the two of us, we had some idea what your plan was. You don't need to do this alone, Doctor. We can help."

"No," the Doctor told him flatly. "You will die. And – and I'm done with having – _no_. I – no!" What the Corsair was proposing – he couldn't accept. He couldn't even _think_ about accepting something of that magnitude – a regeneration? And taken such that whoever he took it from would die, completely and totally? It made him feel sick, stomachs rebelling.

The Master gave them both a glare. "You're being stupid. Did you _want_ to be stuck here forever?"

The Doctor looked at him sadly, wanting to – but he couldn't, not really, not anymore. "It's what I deserve," he said instead, eyes flicking to the Corsair briefly.

With a sigh, the Corsair grabbed the Master by his shoulder. "I don't have the time to fix your self-esteem problem. You _have_ to get out of here."

"No, I don't. I really don't." The Doctor turned away, ignoring them.

"You chose the wrong name," the Corsair said, just loud enough for him to hear. "You never have been a doctor."

The Doctor winced, shuddering. "I know." He was painfully aware that his voice kept breaking, dropping suddenly or cutting out entirely. "I _know_."

"You should have chosen the Saviour instead. Because that's who you are, even though you don't believe it. A saviour."

He spun, breathing hard, because that wasn't the Corsair. Eyes wide, he stared at the Master, shaking his head. "No –"

The Master grinned. "I hate you for it, but it's true. You keep fucking saving people, you bastard, and if I have to kill you to get you to stop, I will. But not permanently. Never that."

"Shut up before you get sappy," the Corsair told the Master, hand still on his shoulder. "What you don't get, Doctor, is you're the only one left."

That barb, that one, was the first to get through, making him stride forward, glaring at the Corsair. "You think I don't know that?" he spat quietly. "I have lived with that knowledge for a _century_. I have been _alone_ since the last time I was here, and now you're forcing me to do it again."

The Corsair looked at him, eyes expressive. "No. You're the only one left who can save the universe. I can't do it, and the Master _won't_. And the universe_ needs_ saving, Doctor, you know that. So yeah. We're going to sacrifice ourselves to get you out because that's the right thing to do. And even if neither of us has been particularly known for that before now, too bad."

The Doctor shook his head, not wanting to – hope or fear, really, because both of them hurt and he was done with hurting and all he really wanted to do was lay down and die because that would hurt less and that would stop him hurting others and –

Moving shockingly quick, the Corsair twisted, throwing the Master into the space between the TARDISes and pulling out a gun at the same time. "You know when he said none of this was his plan?"

The Doctor jolted forward, breath rasping in his ears. "What?"

The Corsair smiled painfully, pressing the gun to the Master's head. "He lied." Never breaking eye contact with the Doctor, he pulled the trigger.

"_No!_" The Doctor ran towards them, trainers slipping on the grating. He caught the Master as he fell, pulling him into an awkward hug as he crouched on the floor.

It was far too much like that day on the Valiant.

The Master grinned through the ruins of his face. The bullet had entered the side of his head and come out near his right eye, destroying his cheekbone. It had to be agonizing. "Haven't we done this before?"

The Doctor cradled him, supporting the Master's chest on his legs and using both hands to support his head. "No – don't – regenerate. _Regenerate!_"

"How about that," the Master said faintly, a mocking smile on his face that indicated he knew _exactly_ what he was doing with that line. "_You_ win." Fingers shaking, he reached his arm up and grabbed onto the Doctor's neck.

Too stunned to pull away, the Doctor froze, staring, as the Master's eyes rolled back in his head. "_No!_"

Face twisted both by his dying expression and the gunshot, the Master clenched his hand harder. Sparks flared around his face as he began to glow. After a moment they receded from his face and flowed down his arm, gathering around his hand.

"No," the Doctor whispered, reaching up to try to remove the Master's wrist.

Panting, the Master clung on all the harder. "Oh, yes." The sparks crossed over, flowing into the Doctor at his arm and neck.

The Doctor yelled hoarsely. Regeneration energy hurt even when it was his own; the rush of someone else's physically _burned _him, turning the skin on his hands an angry red.

The Master relaxed finally, suddenly, arm collapsing and falling away, still with that smirk on his face. Head falling backward, his eyes slipped closed.

"No." High-pitched whimpering left his mouth, almost by accident, as he rocked the Master back and forth, willing him to wake up again, knowing by the mad rush of energy through him that he wouldn't. "No."

"Doctor." The Corsair's hand splayed over his shoulder. "It's over. You should go now."

Lowering the Master to the floor, the Doctor had to shove down the energy and the surge of anger that had come with it. The urge to regenerate was stronger than ever, but he had to hold it off, had to wait, had to delay just long enough –

He turned to the Corsair, glaring darkly at him. "Get out," he snarled, stepping forward, sparks gleaming in his hands.

The Corsair raised both hands, dropping the pistol. "Doctor, anything you do now, you will –"

Twisting one hand, the Doctor watched, smirking gleefully, as the Corsair doubled over in pain. "Do not argue with me. Get out. _Now_. Before I return unto you what you have dealt to me." Power raced through him, and the only thing he could see was the Master bleeding on the floor. He was alone. Again. The only other Time Lord had turned on him and his only thought was to shove him away, protect himself. He dropped his hand, relaxing the strands of time that connected him to the other Time Lord.

Straightening up, the Corsair looked at him, eyes wide – frightened. "I – I was trying to help."

The Doctor snarled, reaching out again. "_Out_."

Hesitating briefly, the Corsair finally broke, running into his TARDIS. The Doctor strode forward, and the Corsair shivered, staring at him.

Smirking, all the Doctor did, though, was pick up the Master's body and deposit it in the Corsair's TARDIS. Anger receding slightly, he stared at the Corsair. "Do _everything_ you can to get him back. The equations are here." Waving a hand, he left rows of symbols hanging in the air; waving it again, he wafted them across the intervening space to hover in front of the Corsair. "They might not work to get both of you through."

The Corsair's face softened as he stared back. "Goodbye."

"Yeah," the Doctor said weakly, and snapped his fingers. The doors swung shut. The two TARDISes disconnected.

The Master was dead and the Corsair was gone. The odds of anyone else successfully getting through the Time Lock were close to zero, even with the equations. The odds of him ever seeing either of them again – small enough that he wouldn't think about it.

Walking slowly to the TARDIS console, he sat down next to the open panel. "One last time, girl. One last flight. Got the equations?"

He wasn't surprised that she hadn't gotten involved while the others were on board – that had never been her style.

Leaning his head against the console, he struggled not to cry. "He's gone. Kos- he's _gone_."

"Equations calibrating. Estimated time to impact ten seconds. Nine. Eight."

He reached out a hand, letting it rest on her heart. "Take what you need. Take whatever you need."

"Three. Two. One."

He was too emotionally wrecked this time to scream, couldn't do anything but sit there and wait as the energy was ripped out of him.

All of it went, and some part of his brain was vaguely worried about this. All of it: the Master's regeneration first, followed by every last scrap he'd picked up from the TARDIS. Every piece of energy he could have conceivably used to survive this – gone.

Creaking ominously, the TARDIS barrelled through the Lock. By the time they were on the other side, he was drenched in sweat and tears and vomit that he would never admit to. He felt worse than he ever had in this regeneration, even when radiation was seeping out his pores. Every inch of him hurt.

"You must regenerate now."

The impersonal voice of the TARDIS caught his attention, pulling his sagging head up. "Can't," he panted, wishing for the pain to go away and lacking the strength to make it.

"You must. You will die if you do not regenerate now."

He whimpered, struggling to peel his suit jacket off. "No energy." His fingers slipped off the buttons and he gave up, head bashing into the console wall again.

"I will provide energy. You must regenerate now."

His eyes snapped open again, fear overtaking the omnipresent pain. "You _can't!_ You don't have that much left, you'll die!" He knew what she was talking about, knew this wasn't like before. Her offer was to give energy that would rip open another regeneration cycle and start the process again, but she didn't have that much left to give.

"I will provide energy," the TARDIS repeated.

Panting, he struggled upright, distancing himself from the console. "Don't." Shuddering, he stood weakly in the middle of the console room.

This body had patterns of thought, he'd noticed before. It ran after death but always balked. Now was no different. He wanted death and didn't want it, was tired of living but couldn't surrender, had to keep fighting and could only lose.

"I don't – you can't die. Not you too," he gasped, trying to communicate one last time. "But – but – I don't want to go!" The last words came out in an uncontrollable rush as the pain took over, dictating his movements.

His limbs snapped out in a parody of how he regenerated and he yelled wordlessly at the ceiling.

He was facing away from the console, but he felt it even through the pain when the blaze of yellow light melded itself to his back. Felt it as it sparked a second regeneration cycle, felt it as it began to burn through him, out of control, too much energy and no way to stabilize it.

The Doctor died, screaming.


	73. Epilogue

**A/N: Hello old friend, and here we are. You and me, on the last page. This is it. The end. The final chapter. Anything left unexplained at this point is either intentionally so, or you haven't been paying enough attention. (What happens to the Corsair is fairly straightforward, given that you remember the events of **_**The Doctor's Wife**_**.) Which means, essentially, that I'm done.**

**The dedication of this work is split seven ways: to Jessica, to Becky, to Rachel, to Susie, to Curt and Sandy, to all of my reviewers, and to you, if you have stuck with the Doctor until the very end.**

**Thanks to: Frog's Princess, FlyingLovegood123, Stellarsong, MrsDalek, Wonderbee31, JoojooBrother, Jimbobob5536, Ptroxsora, Iamthe42, Uryuu-Nipaa, Idalia, almondina, blue dragon of the 13, and LilyLunaPotter142. Many thanks especially to those who reviewed every chapter.**

**Fun Fact of the Day: Neil Gaiman wrote 11 facts for the Corsair, found here: post/30786184930/eleven-things-you-probably-didnt- know-about-the. Interestingly enough, I remain true (occasionally implicitly) to ten of the eleven facts.**

* * *

He gasped a breath in and air seared into his tubes (he had tubes! That was new [no, not new. Why did he think it was new?] and very exciting and wow, tubes!). Okay, cool (good word, must use again), now what?

Spin.

Spinning sounded good.

His brain was still in system reboot (why was it rebooting? Oh, yeah, he had died. Whoops) which meant that everything was stopping and starting and testing things out.

Made life exciting.

There was something else that was making life exciting but it was just at the edge of his mind, so he ignored it.

Right, so his brain was checking things out, so he should be (eating [no, wrong, he shouldn't be eating, now wasn't the time for that] apples) checking things out himself.

Wasn't that right?

Regeneration always made things confusing.

But hey! Exploring a new body = also fun. Everything was fun. (Add to list of things to work out later.)

He reached down and grabbed a knee, kissing it (Things tasted different. Experiment with this). "Legs. I've still got legs. Good." Ooh, things were _good_, now. They'd been brilliant before, and fantastic before that, now they were _good_. Good. No, not right.

Didn't fit the –

That wasn't right either. Didn't matter, had to continue checks. "Arms," he said, waving them. His voice sounded differently this time, but that was almost normal. "Hands. _Ooh_, fingers." He leaned towards them, watching them waggle uncontrollably. "Lots of fingers. Ears, yes." Good. Very very good. And not sticky-outy like before either, nice good ears.

"Eyes, two." And sort of functional, although _everything_ was a little fuzzy right now. "Nose," he waved a hand in and out, making a vague attempt at judging length, "I've had worse." His hands scrabbled at his cheeks and jaw. "Chin – _blimey_." Lots and lots of chin. Lantern jaw of justice. Watch out for that.

"Hair." He wound his fingers (ooh, good, _his_ fingers now, and not just fingers all on their own [very bad when that happened, very very bad]) into his hair, running them through it. "I'm a girl!" Wait, his voice _squeaked_? Why was he _squeaking_? He was a Time Lord, a representative of –

That memory showed up with a thud and he dropped the line of thought quickly.

"No." One hand went to his neck, the other – down. (Wait, was he a prude? Good question, add it to the list.) "No. I'm not a girl." Yep, definitely got an Adam's apple, and… other parts. (Also beginning to sound like a prude.) Moving on. He reached up and grabbed a lock of hair, going cross-eyed in an attempt to stare at it. "And still not _ginger_!"

He waved his hands again, that thing that had been making life exciting earlier deciding to make itself known again. "And something else. Something important. I'm – I'm – I'm –" Tap fingers against head, maybe that would work (status: no, not working).

The TARDIS shook, throwing him onto the console. That was it! "Ha! Crashing!" He laughed, adrenal glands kicking in with a _vengeance_.

His TARDIS was on fire, the console room wrecked, but he was _alive_ and his memory was kicking in to tell him how very improbable this was, he was alive and his TARDIS was alive, and even if they were crashing, there was still something he could do, because that was what he did, and apparently this regeneration had the same propensity toward rambling that the last one did.

He laughed, beginning to work on the console, spinning around excitedly. "_Geronimo!_"

* * *

"I've got to get back in there! The engines are phasing, it's gonna burn!" He had to get back to her, had to save her because she had saved him and _not break his ankle on the shrubbery_ because it turned out that this regeneration was even less coordinated than the last one.

Stumbling along after him, Amelia Pond struggled to catch up. (Cute girl, _lovely_ name, but too young.) "But – it's just a box. How can a box have _engines_?"

(Oh, the Scots. Police box that wasn't used any more appears in her garden, flipped on its side and spewing _gold_ smoke, and she focused on the _engines_.)

"It's not a box," he told her, panting. "It's a time machine." He picked up the grappling hook, trying to divide his attention between her, his TARDIS, and himself, still not fully integrated with his new body.

Amelia gave him a disbelieving look that he didn't have time to deal with. "What, a real one? You've got a real time machine?"

(No, a fake one obviously, couldn't you see that he was the type of guy to go around telling blatant lies to small children? [Except that he _had_ told her a lie, several of them, but all trying to keep her safe {of _course_ he had a time machine, that's who he _was_}])

"Not for much longer if I can't get her stabilised," he said instead, forgetting for a second that most people didn't know the TARDIS was alive. "Five-minute hop into the future should do it."

Another lie that he couldn't bother to elaborate on. It would be five minutes for her but three days for him while he tried to force enough energy into the TARDIS that she could reset herself on her own. She was weak and bleeding energy but he was bursting with it, drawing artron in from the surroundings like flies to honey. No. Wait.

(He added metaphors to List of Things He Could No Longer Do.)

(It was a very impressive list at this point.)

(The List of Newly Acquired Skills was much shorter.)

"Can I come?"

_No._

_I got people killed._

_I'm not safe._

That wasn't what he said, though, he'd never told anyone that. "Not safe in here, not yet," he said, trying to avoid looking at her. This was not a discussion he wanted to have. "Five minutes. Give me five minutes, I'll be right back." He hopped up on the edge, ready to dive into his TARDIS.

Amelia looked doubtful again. "People always say that."

Nope. He was not going to stop and help. That was not who he was, not anymore, he was going to fix his TARDIS and fly off and save planets, not one little girl in her nightie –

"_Go rescue the children, Doctor. I'll be fine."_

He looked at her, and jumped down off of his TARDIS, getting right in her face. "Am I people? Do I even look like people?" This, he already knew, was a blatant _no_ – the chin, for one. "Trust me, I'm the Doctor." More lies, but it was all he could offer.

She smiled faintly and he turned away, clambering back up on the edge of his TARDIS. "Geronimo!"

* * *

Five minutes he'd told her, not twelve _years_, there was quite a bit of a difference there and he'd really mucked it up, hadn't he? At least his TARDIS was stable now, although she was decidedly unhappy with him and in the middle of redecorating. On the flip side, he'd saved the Earth again and found Amy Pond (Amelia, but grown up and wearing skimpy clothing for no reason that he'd ever found out) and her attachment, Rory (nice, if a bit slow).

And now his TARDIS was _back_ and fully redecorated, and _sexy_.

Ooh.

New name for her. New lots of things, actually, because _god_ was she pretty, but he hadn't called her sexy before.

And new toys on the console – he laughed, twirling on the glass. Two levels – _loads_ of things to fiddle with. "I got a bow tie, dear!"

Her console light flashed as he began basic flight protocols. Got to do things _properly_ the first time, at least, because he wasn't going to do it again.

"So where to first? The moon'd be a good bet, nice short hop –"

She hummed, and a paper slid out of the underside of the console. Spinning over, he grabbed it and read the line of typing. All of the excitement bled out of him. "Yeah. Yeah, I should."

He reached automatically for controls (funny how they moved and he still knew _precisely_ where they were [then again, not funny at all, they were telepathically linked]), giving her a time and a place. A time and place that, in his opinion, constituted the worst possible location for him to go.

He had to go. He didn't want to. She wanted him to go. Three guesses who won _that_ fight.

Sighing, he turned towards the typewriter (new) and began composing a letter.

* * *

The TARDIS landed precisely where he wanted her to, for once, right on the other side of the street. Stepping out, he straightened his bow tie with one hand, holding the letter tightly in the other. "I don't want to do this," he whispered.

She made a disgruntled noise and closed the door behind him.

"Fine." Straightening, he walked across the street (in view: four shrubberies, three houses, a cat, and a _lot_ of bugs) to the house. It was a stand-alone, with a small car parked in the driveway and toys scattered in the garden. He looked at the letter in his hand and swallowed, sticking his chin out.

Once up the driveway, he hesitated again before shoving the letter through the mail slot and ringing the doorbell. Shoulders slumped, he turned away, kicking at the grass as he went.

He knew what the letter said. He knew what the residents' reaction would be. He didn't need to be there for it. It wasn't his story anymore.

* * *

_Mickey –_

_I'm sorry. I lost her. It was my fault. There was nothing you could have done. It can't __possibly__ make up for it, but you will always have a job and UNIT will give you her retirement package._

_Tell your children she was brave. She fought until the end and she gave me courage. Never blame yourself. She saved so many lives through her actions. All of her men came back alive._

_I'm sorry. You won't see me again. It was all my fault, what happened. You'll get a letter from UNIT, but she went into battle and she shouldn't have, I should have stopped her but I thought I was too busy and I was wrong._

_I thought you should hear it from me, since it's my fault. I'm sorry._

_The Doctor_

_~fin~_


End file.
